


Time to Walk

by DarkTidings



Series: Lost Deputy Collection [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe, Child Abandonment, Disability, Families of Choice, Hiking, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Service Dogs, Shane Walsh Lives, Slow Romance, Sophia Peletier Lives, Wilderness Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 41,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25945567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkTidings/pseuds/DarkTidings
Summary: Shane leaves the farm on his own after Rick's ultimatum that he give up rights to the baby in order to stay. Instead of giving into the growing impulse to harm his best friend, he heads north to lose himself hiking the Appalachian Trail.
Relationships: Jesus/Shane Walsh, Merle Dixon/Michonne
Series: Lost Deputy Collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1883092
Comments: 252
Kudos: 151





	1. False Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially posted on the Bunny Farm.
> 
> A Shane character study as he moves away from a mental breakdown instead of toward one.
> 
> As requested by BetaDaughter/DT's Spawn after she helped me brainstorm for the other Lost Deputy stories.

_How do you look at the person you love and tell yourself it's time to walk away - Leo, The Vow_

Shane divides his attention between the unguarded shed and the farmhouse as he rechecks that he's packed everything he doesn't want to leave behind. It's not his turn to guard Randall, but whatever endless meeting is happening seems to draw everyone in regardless of responsibility. He doubts the little asshole can get himself out of the restraints Shane put him in without help anyway.

It's another straw on the camel's back for the decision he made on the ride back from trying to dump Randall. The rage that blew through him today, that poisoned his heart and made him actually capable of killing Rick? He isn't risking that again.

The darker part of him that's been dominating his emotions lately hates that once again, Rick is everyone's golden boy. Everything he did to keep Carl, Lori, and the others alive is swept away under the boyish smile and Andy Griffith posture his brother mimicks so well. Shane has never been capable of that sort of sweetness, and as irritating as he finds Andrea, she's right about one thing. He lacks in presentation.

In a different situation, maybe he could salvage things and shoehorn himself back into the only place Rick can accept for him after the disastrous affair with Lori. Eventually, even Lori would forgive him and stop the mercurial swings between acceptance and hatefulness. But in less than eight months, there's going to be newborn who will inevitably look too much like him for Rick and Lori to maintain the fantasy they're crafting.

Shane's been thinking he should leave for a while, and tonight, while everyone is distracted, he's going to make his move. No Andrea to beg to go along. No Lori or Rick to blow hot and cold about him staying.

No Carl to tip the scales because he honestly believes these people are going to get the boy killed. Neither parent pays attention to where the kid is, caught up in the drama Shane is a key part of.

Shouldering the duffel and his Mossberg, he digs the keys to the Hyundai out of his pocket and drops them in the driver's seat of the car. He originally got the car running to take with him, but something about it sits wrong after he stayed longer than he intended. The folks he's leaving behind can use it, and he doesn't have to remember the other mistakes he made, like letting Andrea climb into his lap that day.

Shane is past Daryl's camp when he hears the farmhouse door slam. Looking back over his shoulder, he sees Dale striding furiously on a trajectory that will lead him toward Shane. He guesses the old man lost his argument about retaining their humanity. It's ironic that everyone is shifting to Shane's opinion now that he's thrown in the towel.

Dale spots him and calls out. Shane isn't sure why he hesitates, but he does, waiting on the old man to catch up. Standing there in a field under the light of the still rising moon, he watches as Dale scans his bag and gun and sighs.

"So it's come to that?" Dale asks, sounding sad instead of relieved, surprising Shane. After the confrontation about him holding the gun on Rick, he expected the moral authority of the group to be grateful he's banishing himself.

Shane shrugs, pushing aside the confusion the older man causes. "Don't try and convince me you want me to stay, Dale. We both know you're just waiting on me to finally lose what marbles I have left."

To his credit, the old man looks a little ashamed. "Why like this, slipping away in the dark?"

The bitter laugh makes Shane's chest ache. "Because Rick won't allow me to leave peaceably, even though he wants me gone more than any other person in the place. I'm an obligation to keep around so he can prove he's the better man."

The muscle to do the dirty work Rick flinches away from, just like their entire law enforcement partnership. Shane is the one with two justified shootings on his record before Rick finally couldn't avoid it the day he got shot. It's not that his brother wouldn't have his back, but he's much like Dale in his approach to the world.

Not everyone can be saved.

"What about your baby?"

Shane is surprised to hear Dale acknowledge the child is his. Everyone seems to want to play into Rick and Lori's delusional fiction about the paternity, like anyone with a brain can't do the basic math. He's seen the condemning looks that seem to imply conceiving that child is entirely his fault. Despite his alcohol fueled unforgivable behavior at the CDC, he never touched Lori without her express invitation before Rick's return.

"I was told today that the only way I'm allowed to stay is if I give up all rights to my child, Dale. I can't do that and watch them play happy families with me as the errant stench they can't quite eradicate. Today proved just how much I can't do it."

There was a moment today, where he nearly killed Rick, changing trajectory to smash the window at the last moment. He's not foolish enough not to understand Rick considered leaving him behind. His best friend saved the little pedophile, but nearly left him trapped on that bus in a disaster of Shane's own making.

Dale's astute gaze looks at the damage he bears from the fight with Rick. "Surely, in time, they'll come to their senses. No one can fault how well you cared for Carl."

"One thing I know in this world is Rick Grimes. He won't back down on this one, and next time it all boils over? One of us might end up dead instead of just bloody. What do you think Carl or my child will think of me with Rick's blood on my hands?" Dale has no ready answer for that, so Shane looks back toward the camp. "Do me a favor?"

"If I can." Dale pulls that silly hat of his off his head, worrying at it enough Shane wonders if it'll survive the agitated fidgeting.

"Go take watch. It's not safe to have no one on lookout. And don't tell anyone I'm gone until morning."

"You're absolutely certain of this?" It's been so long since Dale looked at him with kindness that Shane almost doesn't recognize the expression. For a man convinced Shane is a murderous bastard, Dale certainly is more concerned about him than the ones who should be.

"I gotta save myself from going down that path you keep thinking I'm on. I already got one ghost to haunt me the rest of my days. Don't want my brother's, too, and I can't watch him raise my child and not react to that."

The older man nods and offers a hand. Shane surprises himself by shaking it. He watches as Dale treks back to the RV, climbing atop it like he's a hundred years old.

Shane doesn't make it to the treeline undisturbed, because he comes across a walker doing its best to eat a downed cow from Hershel's herd. He knifes the decaying bastard and examines the cow to see how the walker managed to get access to nearly impossible prey. The broken leg provides the clue, with the ground disturbed where the animal stepped into a vole's tunnel.

He leaves the bodies for the others to sort out and keeps heading for the trees. Originally, he planned on heading for the cabin Daryl found Sophia in four days after she went missing and spend the night. But with Dale seeing the direction he went, he changes directions, angling back to the old highway jam that started this chapter of their lives. Rick's just stubborn enough to follow and try to make him return.

There's enough moonlight to navigate with the full moon only a few days past peak. Rather than sleep, he works through part of the jam they didn't scavenge. Supplies back at the farm were still low enough he only took two days worth of food, and most of that not really appropriate for the energy needs of a man his size.

By the time dawn breaks, Shane's killed two stray walkers. He's also found a few pieces of camping gear to replace what he left behind, most importantly, a backpacker's pack that will let him balance weight better than the duffel. The accompanying sleeping bag might be too hot right now, but it'll be better than sleeping on the ground on nights he can't find a place to crash, and the tiny tent will save him some grief when more rain comes as summer passes.

The best find in the truck with the camping equipment is the package of three Lifestraw water filters. With those, he can concentrate the weight he carries more on food and less on water. Water sources are all over Georgia, but drinking straight from them was risky even before dead bodies are traveling everywhere.

Repacking everything into the pack takes longer than he likes, but piss poor planning is what kept the group dealing with one disaster after another, and he no longer has anyone to watch his back. No matter that he chose this solo path, it's still going to be a constant consideration. How he travels, how he sleeps, even how he takes a damnes shit - everything will be on alert.

There's so much food he actually had a choice in what he takes along. He concentrates on the lighter items like breakfast bars and oatmeal packets, a task made easier by the pouches of freeze dried camping food already in the pack. When he gets down to the canned goods, he leaves the lower nutrition items like corn and English peas, selecting canned meats, fish, beans, and fruit. He'll eat those first, saving the lighter weight items for later. There's a travel can opener in his pack, so he doesn't have to dull his knife to access the cans.

The day is already humid and ticking toward hot when he shoulders the pack. His old Army surplus duffel is wrapped around the sleeping bag and secured at the base of the pack. He could probably get one of the vehicles at the edge of the jam running, but that limits him to the roads and a lot of idle time behind the wheel.

With no real destination in mind, he doesn't want or need the time sitting still. Hiking will exhaust his body and perhaps his mind, if he's lucky. Years of allowing the illusion of being a thoughtless jock sidekick secondary to Rick's sweeter friendly neighborhood protector weigh heavy on him now that it's no longer necessary.

He toys with the idea of going home to King County, but there's always the possibility Rick will boomerang back there. He always had stronger ties there than Shane. Something he discarded from the pack catches his eye, brightly colored brochures aimed at tourists.

He picks up the Appalachian Trail planner from the pile and flips through it. There are other materials about the hike, and he wonders why someone who had this level of planning and resources is headed in the wrong direction for the mountains. Maybe the missing man was going to find a loved one or companion.

The booklets give him an idea, a goal. He remembers joking that one day he would take a sabbatical and hike the trail from Georgia to Maine. It is a trip that took half a year, back when the world was stable. Now? Who knows.

Heading north into higher elevation and colder climates seems a bit crazy on the surface. The hike is one you're supposed to start in the spring, to complete it before winter seizes control of the mountains. But he's got no deadlines to meet or people to return to. It just means he might have to hole up for the winter and continue on when the snow melts.

He doesn't have Daryl Dixon's level of skill in the woods, but few people live and breathe the woods the way that man does. But he isn't the townie Rick is either. His partner can fish, but Rick's only talent with firearms is what he had to learn for work. Shane knows how to hunt, fish, and forage enough to round out packaged food, when it's just himself he's responsible for.

With a glance toward the water truck he remembers from their first day here, Shane sighs and sets off for the long hike north to the Chattahoochee National Forest and the beginning of something in his life that doesn't revolve around Rick Grimes and a false dream of a family designed to drive him insane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intended to be Shane/Jesus by BetaDaughter's request.
> 
> The Appalachian Trail starts in north Georgia and at one point, crosses into the very backyard of Hilltop's setting. Expect at least a few chapters of Shane's solo journey.
> 
> The request also asks that at minimum Hershel and Merle survive the Woodbury/prison arc. I figure if I'm going to twist things that far, Lori and T-Dog will also survive. Dale's death has already been thwarted. As usual, Sophia, Andre, etc survive.
> 
> Eventually the prison will fall and our adventurers will make their way north and encounter Aaron and later Jesus and one long lost deputy.
> 
> In keeping with the canine companion theme, Shane won't walk all the way to Virginia alone.
> 
> It will not be a Negan storyline, focusing less on war and more on reconnecting with family.


	2. Only Time Will Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane treks north toward his goal, while his absence is finally discovered at the Greene Farm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Occasionally, chapters will contain glimpses into Rick's group, but not often. The primary focus will remain on Shane's journey.

Rick's life as a family man left Shane to his own devices regularly as an adult. His best friend's vacation time was spent on trips that accommodated his family's needs, as it should be. It meant Shane found other things to do, most years. 

The first decade after college, that meant camping and backpacking trips with some of his buddies he played ball with in college. Over the years, they married off as well, and Shane spent last year's vacation camping and hiking in a state park completely on his own. It's ironic that that particular park has two hardcore trails that are often used as conditioning trails for the Appalachian Trail.

All those years taught him he can hike fifteen miles in a day easy, twenty at a good clip, and more if he has to. Despite his exhaustion, he pushes hard on his northbound hike away from Senoia. Going cross country without fear of trespassing issues helps him make better time, and he does take to paved roads a few times once he's far enough away he doesn't expect to be found.

Years of double shifts at the sheriff's department help him go past the point his body first screams for sleep, but he knows eventually he can't keep up the pace safely. When he reaches the desolate, vehicle strewn stretch of Interstate 85, he pauses and considers that maybe he should find a place to sleep and replenish water supplies. He's stopped to drink anytime he crossed a creek, but he's also emptied both sports bottles.

The July heat bears down on him, and he debates the danger of dehydration long enough to put down a few walkers. What he unearths from a few searched vehicles is almost too hot to drink, but it's not the first time he's managed to drink hot Gatorade. It won't be the last in a world of no refrigeration. The sports drink is a find he is definitely glad he searched for.

Shane exits the interstate by heading down the north side off ramp the same way he walked up the south side one. He isn't familiar with the town he's approaching, but his mental map puts it at least twenty miles north of Senoia. Keeping that in mind, he begins a search for a safe place to hole up and sleep.

It's the sight of a farm supply store that reminds him that there are long term supplies he needs if he's heading solitary into the mountains. Even better, the place is fenced in like most are, because of all the items that are stored outside the building for sale. He jams the gates shut at all the entrances. It won't keep out people, but today, he's just aiming for the most likely danger, not random people.

The farm store shows signs of looting, but not on the scale Shane's seen in other stores. He imagines many people don't even think of these places for survival supplies. The cluttered building is clear except for a walker trapped in a back office. Laying that one to rest is a little sad, because he wonders why the elderly bookkeeper is here instead of home with her family.

Jamming the doors shut isn't complicated, so he secures the building as best he can. It's too swelteringly hot and humid to sleep in the building, even waiting for nightfall. Instead, he strips down to bare skin and drains water out of the bathroom hot water heater tank into a bucket to scrub down his sweaty skin. Keeping his skin healthy is going to be a priority going forward.

Putting clothes back on is no treat, but being surprised here while buck ass naked isn't in his game plan. He washes out his socks and underwear and drapes them to dry as he goes through the store to gather anything useful. There's always items that that work well for campers in a place like this, like small canisters of fuel and a camp stove light enough he won't feel much addition to his pack weight.

Sticking to the lightweight food items, Shane salvages everything edible that's survived months of Georgia heat into a net bag. Some of the canned goods he's already carrying will be a meal before he sleeps, and more in the morning. He'll need to keep lightening weight as he goes, trading off cans for dried fruit, jerky, and nutrition bars.

Topping off by drinking from the half full water cooler in the office, he refills his water bottles. Then he grabs his pack and drying clothes before opting for the outdoors and a possibility of air circulation. The sun is well past zenith, so he leans a ladder against the building and makes the climb up. Once the ladder is up behind him on the roof, he sets up the tiny ultralight tent alongside the big rooftop air conditioning units.

The low profile of the canvas will make it hard to spot him except from another roof. Content that he's as safe as he can be on his own, he uses the camp stove to blend and warm a can of beef stew with another of black beans and methodically eat the food while a curious squirrel watches.

Shane studies the little animal before reaching for a pack of trail mix. He's never cared much for walnuts, so he tosses a couple toward the attentive rodent.

It scampers away at the first toss, but not far. It's little nose twitches until it eventually creeps forward and snatches up the piece of walnut. Starting to feel an almost crushing sense of being alone in a way even his solo camping trips never managed, he risks speaking.

"Did someone feed you before? You're awful comfortable being this close." He tosses another walnut and returns to his own meal as the squirrel nibbles at that fragment, too.

Shane opens a can of peaches, drinking the syrup, before starting on the soft, sweet slices of fruit. Boosting his calories is going to be more important than even his football days now. Canned fruit will end up a luxury on the trail, something he has ro drop down into the leftovers of civilisation to find.

His visitor isn't leaving, so Shane tosses it a peanut this time. "Try that on for size."

He eyes the angle of the sun, wondering if digging his watch out of his pack is worth it and discards the thought for now. Sorting through the single serve pack of trail mix, he fishes out the remainer of the nuts, scattering them gently between himself and the squirrel. The raisins, cranberries, and imitation M&Ms he keeps for himself, savoring the chocolate that survived being melted by virtue of candy shell.

Praying he won't have to exit in a hurry, he shucks boots, pants, and socks and crawls into the tent. He fights back the urge to give voice to grief the way he did when he first thought Rick was gone from his life forever. Exhaustion overwhelms the sharp ache of loss when he thinks of what he left behind.

Shane is asleep within minutes despite the late afternoon sun illuminating the tent.

~*~*~

Dale Horvath holds to his promise not to alert the others about Shane's departure. He sits out an extended watch shift without anyone offering to relieve him, because without the big deputy's paranoia, no one seems to care. It isn't until Glenn wanders toward his tent that anyone even realizes where Dale is.

So he elects to wait and watch, to see how much of Shane's assessment about Rick is true. He finds sleep comes hard that night, even with the shamefaced Glenn taking his spot on the RV and promising to send T-Dog up midway through the night. But eventually it does come, although it is a restless night that leaves him with an aching head and a weary heart when he steps into the morning sunlight next.

Just like the walkers in the barn, Dale chooses to wait on a revelation that is going to rock the group's foundation. He simply doesn't want to know how until he has to know. 

Not yet. Not this time.

Breakfast comes and goes, and no one notices they're missing a member of their group. They also don't notice when Dale makes no further attempts to change their minds about the man in the shed. Dale climbs to the top of the RV, and he watches and waits.

It's not noticed until Rick and Hershel are out inspecting fences after Hershel's unexpected change of heart allowing them to stay. They come back in a fluster of anxiety and anger, asking who put down a walker without alerting the rest.

Dale lets the chaos settle before he asks. "Was it out on the fence line toward where Daryl found Sophia?"

The question gets him everyone's attention. They don't expect it to be him, he can tell, because he's rarely taken down a walker without a gun. They're right, but he still takes a moment to smile sadly.

"I didn't see it happen, but since Shane was headed that direction last night, I would hazard he took down the walker." Dale thinks over the direction he was headed himself, and it makes him wonder if the other man saved him from an encounter he probably wouldn't have survived in the dark.

"What the hell? Why wouldn't he tell us there's a walker that close?" Rick looks like he's about to imitate Shane at his best explosion of temper. "Shane! Where the hell are you?"

It is interesting to watch as there's no response. Everyone looks around, just now realizing no one's seen or heard from the brash, hotheaded man all day. Dale clears his throat.

"What, dammit, Dale?" Rick demands, frustration all but dripping from his frame.

"Shane didn't tell anyone about the walker because he didn't come back to camp after he and I talked. He was packed to leave."

T-Dog heads for Shane's tent and ducks his head inside. His expression is grim when he looks back. "Most of his things are gone, anything easily packed and carried."

"He left the Hyandai. Why would he do that?" Andrea protests, striding toward the car. Her expression goes as dour as T-Dog's when she reaches inside to produce a set of keys. 

Dale knows she advocated leaving with the man. Him walking away is about as clear an answer as Shane can give. He feels bad for her, but he also understands why the deputy wouldn't take her up on her offer of companionship. Andrea would be a constant reminder of who isn't with him.

"Why would he leave without telling anyone?" Rick asks, sounding lost. Maybe he is, considering the two deputies have been two halves of a whole for decades. "Did he say why he was leaving?"

Dale takes note of who is present, glad the two children are up at the house with Beth Greene. "He said he already had one ghost to haunt him, and he would only add his brother's if he stayed."

"Shane would never hurt me." The healing marks of their fight give away that as untrue.

Dale feels sorry for the man's inability to see his friend had limitations like any other. "Being denied a relationship with his child can push a man places he wouldn't normally go."

Lori is openly weeping. "How will he make it on his own?" she asks, wrapping her arms around her stomach protectively. "What did you say to him, Rick?"

"I told him he could only stay if he admitted the baby was mine." Rick's genuine distress makes Dale wonder if Shane misjudged his best friend's ability to adhere to the ultimatum he made. "Why would he leave when we were still a family?"

Dale pulls his hat off, worrying at it the same way he did last night. "Perhaps he needed to be actually part of that family, not an obligation you keep around only as long as he's useful." Or as Shane implied, because the man's volatile nature makes Rick look like a gentlemanly hero.

The flinch Dale sees in Daryl makes him regret the words have wider impact than intended. But in the end, he doesn't think the hunter will risk giving up his self-appointed guardianship of Sophia and her mother. It is a reminder that Shane isn't the only one treated as muscle to the hero Rick portrays.

It wasn't Rick who questioned Randall in that shed, after all.

Dale just wishes he came to this realization sooner, when it might have been more useful in keeping their group intact. If Shane hadn't felt the entire group was aligned against him, maybe he could have stayed and waited for Rick to come to his senses. Only time will tell what this has cost them.

The group devolves into arguments and recriminations that Dale does his best to ignore. It's too late to find Shane now, unless the man returns of his own volition. Dale gave him the head start he asked for, and the others' self involvement gave him even more time.

Later, when they've fled their safe haven in the dark, and the farm is lost under a horde of the dead, Dale knows the door on Shane's return is closed, too. Luck saved them, that and the ongoing watch everyone held out of guilt that one of their own could pack and leave with only a single witness.

Where they go now? No one seems to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BetaDaughter has requested this to also be a Dad!Shane story that is separate from Judith after seeing a reviewer suggestion. His journey will eventually include small fry.
> 
> I decided to go ahead with a chapter since RBM has one chapter left, and that one I'm taking my time with to post on Wednesday.


	3. Not Alone Anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane finally arrives near the beginning of the Trail and finds a companion for the journey.

After that first day when he pushed so hard to put a significant distance between himself and the Greene Farm, Shane doesn't overextend himself, especially with the heat and humidity at Georgia's favored July levels. He also scavenges whenever he can along the way, especially the farm stores and their less swarmed or looted properties. 

He needs to build supplies of the freeze dried and dehydrated food, because he isn't sure how much will be available in the towns bordering the Trail. Hunting and foraging is well within his skills, but keeping up caloric needs and decent nutrition would be hard living solely off the land.

It means it takes him five days before he reaches Amicalola State Park, but he reminds himself he isn't on a schedule. Shane can't complete the Trail before winter hits, so leaving here better prepared is best. He intends to stay in the state park, if possible, for long enough to break in a pair of good trail shoes he picked up. The tactical boots he still wears were his work boots, and they're not meant for trail hiking.

Although Shane hasn't seen a living soul along the way, and surprisingly few walkers, he becomes even more cautious on approaching the state park. He suspects there should be other pockets of survivors like the quarry group out there, and established camping areas would be prime places to be.

But his weird luck holds. Not one single building contains any sign of living people, and he only has to put down four walkers. Like the bookkeeper back near the interstate, he's saddened by the park employee who stayed here instead of being somewhere with family. It's just a reminder that he only survived the early weeks due to having Lori and Carl to look after.

Deciding the lodge itself is too public and visible for his taste, he takes over one of the smaller creekside cabins. It's a relief to shed the pack for a little while, and a test of the water pressure shows that whatever storage tanks that supply the park aren't tapped dry yet. Securing the doors, he strips down and takes an actual shower for the first time in over a week.

Deciding to take the chance on airing his skin a while, he begins the process of sorting the contents of his pack. Shane is over an advisable weight right now, because he's carrying items intended to discard before he begins the trail to the Springer Mountain summit. The guy whose backpacking gear he appropriated didn't have everything for a trip with no easy resupply stations, so he's been supplementing gear as well.

Pretty much all his clothes will be discarded. Most aren't materials meant for hiking, especially not something like the Trail. He picked up replacements in an outfitter shop before hiking up to the park. It doesn't take long to sort the obvious discards, although some are harder than others, like the police cap he's worn for years.

Recent events certainly show that part of his life is behind him. But Shane does finally strap his watch back on, because the expensive thing has more features than date and time. The battery on the thing might outlive him in this day and age. Looking at the date surprises him, although he supposes he knew it was later than his brain wanted to think about.

August first.

Definitely a late start. He'll definitely be sitting out the winter somewhere, but it's not like he has a job or family to go back to.

Shane takes all the new clothing to the sink and gives it a good scrub, leaving the cabin looking like a weird clothing shop once he's draped it over the furniture to dry. Deciding to go scavenge what he can from the park restaurant to reserve the rest, he packs everything but the damp clothes back in the pack. He won't take the pack with him just yet, but it needs to stay ready to go.

The Mossberg he leaves as well. It's another thing he has to make a decision on. The shotgun is heavy, and he doesn't foresee any deer hunting on the Trail. Taking one down would be wasteful in the extreme. Then again, black bears populate the length of the Trail, so it might be needed as a last ditch defense.

After he dresses in some of his old clothes, he does holster the Glock. That will go with him regardless of weight. Ammo for the damn thing is as common as tic-tacs in the South at least, not that he's fired it since the farm.

The new shoes make him wish he hadn't left his trail shoes behind when he evacuated. He always hates breaking in a new pair. But these are the same brand, at least. Reaching for the machete he's been using as a clearing tool, he heads back to the lodge, his old duffel over a shoulder.

Ignoring the stench of spoiled food isn't all that hard. It's better than rotting walker. As Shane searches the pantry, he feels a little bad for the guests who paid to eat here. Like most buffet style places, there's little that comes from fresh food, aside from the freezer, which is probably a cesspit of spoiled meat.

That's to his advantage, though, because there are three restaurant size cans of powdered eggs. He can divvy those up into baggies to take with him and toss the cans. He did similar with cans of Nido milk on his way here. He loads his bag with everything else that looks viable for either his short stay here or the hike and closes the duffel, a little surprised he filled it. There's still plenty here if another survivor drifts through.

Movement catches his eye when he leaves the lodge, something half hidden in the uncut grass. Shane has the machete ready, but if it's a walker, it's a disabled one. Then there's a heartbreaking whimper that makes him put the weapon back in the belt sheath.

Keeping an eye on his surroundings, he edges toward the movement. He can't tell what the dog is at first, but it's wounded. Clotted blood rakes down one side of the small animal, and it is belly crawling rather than walking. Reminding himself that animals can't turn, he brings himself into sight of the dog.

"Hey, buddy. Looks like you've had a run of bad luck. Think you might like some help?"

The response to his voice is the most piteous look of sheer hope he's ever seen. Shane drops the duffel to the ground, shedding his shirt to use as a makeshift bandage. It allows him to wrap it up gently, so he slips the duffel back on and lifts the dog.

"Don't know that I can fix what all's wrong, buddy, but I'll do my best. Looks like something big got a hold of you. Did you piss off a bigger dog?"

Shane imagines there are more and more animals going feral, although this dog definitely still remembers people. He wonders if it belonged to someone who worked at the park. Dogs have notoriously long memories for safe places.

At the cabin, he takes the dog into the bathroom and lays it in the tub. Taking the duffel back into the living room, he retrieves his med kit and other supplies.

"Let's get you cleaned up, buddy. See if you need some stitches." The dog just watches him with trusting eyes, so Shane sponges it slowly clean. The cuts are definitely deep enough, but he thinks more from something metal rather than teeth or claws. Maybe the little animal got trapped somewhere.

The exam reveals something else. His new friend isn't a 'buddy'. "Well, missy, think you can hold off on biting me while I stitch this up?"

Just to be safe, Shane tears strips off the ruined shirt and makes a makeshift muzzle. "Sorry about that, sweetheart, but we don't both need stitches today."

It takes less than ten minutes to clean and stitch up the gashes along her ribs with fishing line. The muzzle turns out to be unneeded, because she never turns aggressive, just whines and watches him. Shane covers the stitches with antibiotic ointment and bandages, hoping the dog will leave it be, considering he doesn't have a cone to stop her.

Her fur is mostly dry, but he still runs a towel over her sturdy body. Since she wasn't walking earlier, he checks her paws and legs. There are no injuries he can find with his limited experience, so maybe she was just hurt and exhausted. The makeshift muzzle gets tossed in the trash.

Wrapping her in the towel, he carries her back into the living room and settles her onto the couch. "You lay right there, missy. Ain't like they're going to charge me a fee for a dog in here."

Shane sanitizes his hands and sets some water to boil. He isn't going to take the canister stove with him, since he prefers to avoid carrying fuel cans. But it's a perk for the cabin. Cracking the window for any fumes to escape, he rummages in the duffel for one of the big cans of eggs and grabs the jar of peanut butter from his to-be-eaten-here stash.

Soon as the water boils, he mixes up eggs for them both, leaving hers unseasoned. He dumps a couple giant spoonfuls of peanut butter on her plate, too. The eggs cool fast, so he plops the plate next to her head on the couch.

"Room service. Not chef quality, but it's food."

He waits until she's wriggled around despite obvious pain and samples the food. Once Shane is sure she's going to eat, he retrieves his eggs. Finishing them off quickly, he puts the plate on the counter and opens a can of pineapple. 

"You ever eat fruit? I remember the K9 deputy liked to slip pineapple and peaches to our four footed deputy." She seems to perk up as he speaks, so he puts a couple of chunks of fruit on her plate and finishes the can himself with a spoon from the cabin's supplies.

She might not stay, but if she decides a strange new person is better than the free life on her own, Shane needs to adjust some of his planning.

"What kinda dog are you, missy? Look a bit like those British royal dogs, but not quite. Guess that makes you a corgi crossed with something else." Looks real similar to another deputy's blue heelers, with her grayish spotted coat, he thinks.

Since she can't fill in the blanks for him, he guesses it doesn't really matter. Her plate is clean, so he takes it to the sink and washes it and his with some heated water. Although there are things he can be doing, he goes and sits on the couch.

If Shane blinks away tears when she wiggles to drop her head on his thigh, there's no witnesses who can talk. He drops a hand to her head, scratching the big, perky ears.

"Might be an insult, but you've got some big bat ears going on, don't you?" He thinks about the trail. "I'm going for a real long walk. Got a lot of steps up to the top of the falls the first day, so you'll need to get good and healthy to tag along."

Shane isn't sure how to carry food for her easily. He did pick up a slingshot as a bit of a joke, so he can easily hunt as they hike. Maybe he hasn't used one of the usually boyish hunting devices since he was an actual boy, but he remembers they take down squirrels and rabbits pretty easily. Unlike his guns, ammo for the slingshot is everywhere.

"Might need to reverse back to town and find some dog food though. Not sure your body can live off nothing but pure protein after all the domestication." 

Hell, if Shane can find some of those pouch foods and some sort of doggie vest, she could probably carry some of her own supplies. It will mean more trips to civilisation to scrounge than he intended, but he can't say that having her with him isn't a relief on several levels if she stays. He doubts any walkers or other predators can surprise her senses.

Maybe a pet store would even have a book, since almost all Shane's knowledge about dogs is from the K9 deputy at work. His schedule didn't really lean to having a dog, and it was an extra expense his mother didn't need when he was a kid. 

When Shane realizes that the dog is sound asleep, he finds himself smiling for the first time in days. Neither of them are alone anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dog is a cowboy corgi - a corgi and heeler mix. The nickname 'Missy' will stick as her name.
> 
> Shane and Missy will have one more adventure before their hike, starting the trickle of information that Rick's group eventually gets before they find Shane again. Missy doesn't really need other food/etc, but he doesn't know that.
> 
> Time jumps will start happening since I figure y'all don't need a day to day of the Trail. Next chapter I should have a timeline of sorts ready for the story.
> 
> I'm trying to space the deputy stories out so that they don't all plop out at once and y'all have to wait 7-14 days for all of them to come around again. So the one with the kiddos will get a chapter Sunday or so.


	4. Quick Thinking Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip into a town for pet supplies leads Shane and Missy to rescue a young boy.

The trek down into the abandoned town is eerily quiet. Unlike many places, it seems mostly evacuated. Shane wonders if the residents evacuated to Atlanta or Chattanooga or both. He wishes them luck in either direction.

"Sniff anything out, Missy?" In the five days he allowed for the dog to heal as best she could, he discovered she has a strong sense of the dead. It isn't unexpected, but it makes him wonder how much safer the group would have been with a dog or two along.

The dog looks nonchalant, alert but nothing worrisome. She even wags her tail as she trots along beside him. 

It doesn't take long to reach the farm supply store. It's actually locked up, glass undamaged. They circle the building to a side door, and Shane carefully breaks the glass beside the door to unlock it. Raps on the glass don't attract anything.

"Guess we take a closer look." Opening the door, he makes sure there's no glass where Missy might step. It reminds him to look for some dog boots for her to protect her feet as they need to.

The store is completely empty, shut down by some long missing manager when the world started going to hell. Looking around the half empty shelves, some folks did remember places like this for supplies, but most of what is in short supply isn't what he's here for.

"Lookie here. They do carry doggie backpacks. What do you think? Red or black?" It's a silly question, since he knows Missy doesn't care, but she likes him talking. He selects the black one, reading the instructions and settling it on her small sturdy body.

Missy inspects her new duds as best as she can before wagging her tail. She's either worn one before or a harness similar enough for it not to bother her. Grabbing a can of dog food and a bowl, he figures she might as well have a treat while he browses and sets her up at the end of the aisle.

The pet care section is almost overwhelming. He used his own first aid supplies before, but scanning the shelves, he finds a small zippered bag and stuffs various supplies into it like styptic powder and bitter bandages, discarding any bulky packaging. The flea and tick selection makes him grumble a bit, but it doesn't take long to apply one of the little tubes to her scruff and slip a year's supply into the first aid bag.

An actual pet store would be better for what he needs to learn, but he's not on a schedule, not really. Reading the single pamphlet and then the dog food instructions themselves leads him to understand she's probably fine living off the land if he can hunt. That means he can focus more on emergency food, opting for the slim pouches of wet food that will be lightweight and compact.

Her little backpack works well to carry extra pouches, although he's careful after the thing's instructions said no more than twenty percent of her body weight. He'll ignore its option to carry water bottles just for that reason.

Deciding to have a meal of his own from food that isn't already in his pack for the hike, he raids what's survived the heat and the final shoppers and goes to sit next to Missy in the secluded pet supply corner. She chomps happily on a piece of jerky he shares.

"You don't get the moonpies, darlin. Don't know a lot about dogs, but I do know chocolate is a bad thing." The sugary treat is a mess to eat, chocolate coating melted against the cellophane, but he eats three of the mini moonpies. He slips the rest in his pack along with most of the gift pack of jerky he got the pack out of that he's having for impromptu lunch. A few items go into a cargo pocket of his pants for eating on the move.

"Alright, Missy. Let's do a tour of the store for any useful bits and go B&E that vet office we passed earlier." He skipped it going in, wanting to save it for the return trip. The first aid kit he assembled reminds him he probably needs antibiotics and the like for her, too.

They find a few things, like an extra roll of duct tape, water purification tablets, and an extra multi-tool, but for the most part, his earlier foraging of similar stores seems sufficient. Shane uses a display to block off the broken window. While he doesn't plan on coming back, other survivors might, and leaving it open to wildlife seems wasteful.

Standing in the little side lot with the T-posts and stock tanks, he considers how still everything is. The towns all have this air of abandonment that the rural areas don't yet, despite the rapid reclamation of human landscaping by nature. Too sterile with all the concrete and asphalt to crumble back to the land quickly, he supposes. Give Georgia another year or two, though, and he expects even places like this one will be slowly hidden under Virginia creeper, kudzu, and the inevitable structural collapse brought by unchecked weather and humidity.

Missy alerts as they clear the building and head toward the abandoned fast food place near the street, causing him to freeze. She isn't growling, not yet, but he scans the area, inadequate human ears straining. Then he hears it.

The unmistakable sound of a child trying very hard not to cry.

"Find the kid, Missy," Shane tells her, and the little dog darts off, a whining yip begging him to follow. She dances around a dumpster, waiting on him to catch up. A pair of walkers is about twenty feet away, turning from their confused daze to alert on him and the dog. Taking them down is almost second nature.

It makes him worry, to return to the dumpster and look over the edge. The child could be injured, or worse, bitten. He's had to put down child walkers before, and it's a haunting action. But he can't leave even a dying child alone in this cruel world, so he looks.

The boy is about Carl's age, huddled in the confines of the metal container and sniffling. His dark skin is sweat slick, but it's not unusual considering the day is already sweltering hot.

"Hey, kid? You need help?"

His voice makes the boy damn near piss himself in fright, but that fear gives way to hope quickly. "You aren't a walker."

"Not a dead one, anyway." The weak joke makes the kid smile, at least. "Where's your people?"

"Dad was in the store. I was supposed to stay in the car, but I saw a dog and wanted to see if it would come to me. It ran away when some walkers came."

"And you had to run, too, I bet. Do you remember what store?" Shane offers the boy a hand to climb out of the dumpster. "Smart move, going in one of those, kid." The strong odors of old trash of the restaurant easily hides the scent of one preteen boy, confusing his pursuers even though he wasn't silent.

"My name's Duane, not kid."

Glad the boy seems spirited enough to talk back a little, Shane grins at him. "Shane. That's Missy."

Duane's face lights up at the sight of the dog, who wags her tail excitedly when Shane tells Duane he can pet her. Kneeling on the asphalt, the boy accepts the doggie affection before speaking. "It was a dollar store place."

Town like this probably has two or three of those, maybe even two of the same chain. But he isn't going to leave a kid on his own. It's bad enough he didn't believe Sophia could be found until the redneck carried her out of the woods.

In the end, finding the kid's father isn't hard. They come across the man searching frantically just a couple of blocks away. Shane can't watch the reunion, reminded too much of a different one back in Atlanta. He drops to one knee, fiddling with Missy's backpack and letting her swipe a tongue across his face.

"Can't thank you enough, mister."

Shane looks up to see the older man's earnest expression and smiles weakly as he stands. "Didn't do much other than give him an escort. Duane saved himself with quick thinking."

Kid's going to be in enough trouble for getting out of the car. Might as well lob something in there to offset the father's fears.

"Nevertheless, you made the effort, and that's worth the gratitude." He offers a hand, which Shane shakes. "Morgan Jones."

The name rings a bell, but he can't quite place it. "Shane Walsh. Old habits die hard after years as a cop, I guess."

Morgan tilts his head, looking like he's thinking something over, but Duane speaks first. "We met a cop not long ago, didn't we, Dad?"

"That we did, son, but we lost track of him." Morgan is keeping watch more than looking at Shane, which he's glad for when the man keeps speaking. "When we got to Atlanta, there was no refugee center, and we had no more leads. I decided the mountains were a safer bet than the city."

"Smart move." Shane debates telling the man where Rick last was. Part of why Rick went back into the city was to get the walkie to warn his once savior. He knows Rick never was able to make contact again.

"Wonder if he ever found his family?" Duane asks. That pushes Shane toward sharing, because the kid sounds so damned hopeful.

"He did, if the man you're thinking about is Rick Grimes."

That gets him the undivided attention of both Joneses. "I thought your first name rang a bell," Morgan says. "Sounds like a miracle, with the center destroyed."

"We were camped outside the city. Some of our supply runners found him. He did try to contact you, but those old walkies are crap."

"Where is he now?" Morgan looks almost excited. Shane understands. If he were fit for human company, he might feel the same way, finding someone he once knew.

"Last I saw, on a farm west of Atlanta. Down around Senoia."

"You aren't with them? He said a man named Shane was his partner and probably got his wife and son to safety."

"We faced a difference of philosophy in keeping people safe. They preferred his leadership to mine." Shane shrugs, pushing away the ache of loss, of no longer having a family of any type.

"So you just left?" Duane sounds incredulous. "Just you and your dog?"

"Sometimes, you just know when it's time to go. Harder nowadays, but it still happens." He points back toward the farm supply store. "Good supplies in the farm store, and the building is safe if you go in the side door. Not a lot of food, but other things."

Morgan nods, looking concerned. "You are welcome to travel with us."

It's tempting, for a heartbeat or two. The illusion of being part of something bigger than himself again is alluring. But how he explained his leaving to Morgan, the sting of being shunted aside as a leader after keeping people alive for weeks, that's as true a hurt as losing his family. Why take the risk again to get attached?

"Thank you for the offer, but Missy and I will be alright. The mountains are relatively walker free, and the solitude will be nice." It actually has been a little refreshing, after weeks jammed in with others, to be on his own. He knows it will get lonely eventually, but for now, it's soothing. "Had people up near DC, anyway."

It's a lie couched in a weak truth. The only people he has near DC have graves at Arlington. He might even see if the area's overrun, when he passes close by.

Whatever Morgan sees in his expression seems to make the man realize he won't change his mind. Shane figures the man's old enough to understand that relationships fracture beyond repair sometimes. He'll probably assume Shane only stayed with Rick's family out of obligation. 

"Thank you for the supply tip."

Duane pets Missy forlornly. "Goodbye, girl. Hope you get to chase lots of squirrels."

Shane starts to walk away when Morgan calls his name. "Senoia? Why did he go west instead of back home, if I might ask?"

"Idea was to scope out Fort Benning and see if any military held." Shane's idea, actually, but he rejected the direction when he left. He doesn't want confirmation it's probably a failure as much as some of his other choices were. "Found the farm when we needed medical help. Dunno if they'll move on or stay a while."

The last plan Rick formulated was to stay the winter there, if Hershel allowed. Shane's argument that the farm was too open and had too many animals didn't hold for much with the others. They want to pretend the world is normal and play house.

"We might head that way, if nothing seems good up here. Any tips for the mountains?"

Shane considers the area. "State parks usually have cabins, if you don't mind hauling in supplies. There's an eco friendly lodge that's walker free up near Amicalola. Solar showers and some basic electricity. Checked it out the other day."

It was a test hike to help break in the shoes further, plus see how Missy handles trail before the long hike down to one of the abandoned towns. Only being accessible by foot might make it a secluded haven for the father and son. Shane considered staying there, briefly, but the idea of sitting still didn't work for him.

"I appreciate the tip. Perhaps we'll drive up that way once I secure enough supplies. Good luck finding your people."

Shane nods and spares Duane a genuine smile. "Next time, kiddo, let the dog come to you if it wants new people, alright?"

The boy nods, stepping close to hug his father. When Shane is about to turn a corner that will take him out of sight toward the vet clinic, he glances back. The duo are still watching. He raises a hand to wave, getting farewell gestures in return.

"Well, Missy, now that we tattled about our little corner of the world, I say we make sure we get on our way soon."

The dog brushes against his legs before wandering back in her zigzag inspection of the scents around. Watching her, he wonders if he should have left her with the boy, giving the family an extra layer of protection. But the idea makes his chest twinge, so he shakes it off. Missy chose to stay with him.

With that comforting thought, he keeps on his way. By this time tomorrow, he and Missy will be well on their way to start the long journey to Maine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first of Shane's breadcrumbs of where he's gone... 
> 
> In the comics, Morgan and Duane were in a cabin at one point, so this is a play on that. Eventually, Morgan will join up with Eastman and even further out, they'll head north and eventually meet back up with Rick.
> 
> This will be a non-Negan story, just as a reminder.
> 
> Next chapter may be solely on the trail, then the one after as his first Virginia encounter (Shirewilt).


	5. Four States

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane and Missy set out on the Appalachian Trail at last, making their way nearly five hundred miles north before he starts to think about keeping his canine family member safe for the winter.

For the first time in a long time, Shane feels the burn of good exercise in his legs and revels in it having no goal other than reaching the summit of Springer Mountain. Missy is keeping up easily, enjoying the trail like only highly energetic dogs can. The climb to the top of Amicalola Falls was the true test of Missy's recovery: 604 steps to the top.

"Heard someone call that death by stairs," Shane tells her as he makes sure she drinks before they set out again. 

He also fills the two sports bottles he carries outside his pack. Inside that pack, he's got emergency water, but those two bottles are exactly for emergencies. Water adds too much weight to overpack it. The LifeStraws mean he can filter as he drinks, anyway.

Looking back at the state park, he wonders if the man and his son will take his advice and head up to the secluded little Inn. Shane hopes so, since they seemed like good people. If not, with luck, Morgan will find Rick, and he'll get a few karma points back for reuniting them.

Ignoring the ache that causes in his chest, he leads Missy onward through the beautiful scenery. With no reason to set a heavy pace, he doesn't push. He can do a mile every half hour easily, but Missy probably doesn't need to.

The eight and a half miles to the summit takes just under five and half hours. He can see the Appalachian Mountains filling the vista and takes time to sit and manage a meal for them both. Nearly 3,800 feet at the summit, he remembers as he checks the handbook in the pack's outer pocket.

"You sure you're up to hiking over two thousand miles, Missy? Awful long trek for a lady your size just because some crazy dude thinks it's better than sitting around doing nothing."

The dog wags her tail and climbs into his lap. Rubbing her fuzzy ears, they finish their rest break in cozy silence. Before they leave the summit, he notes the date and time in his trail journal.

August 7, 2010 - 12:15 p.m.

On a whim, he also signs them into the trail journal. No one will probably ever see it before the elements take the record without people to maintain it, but what the hell. Shane might as well leave some mark behind them in the world.

There's a shelter at the summit, but they bypass that, since it's only noon. They do stop almost three miles later, because nearly twelve miles is as much as he wants to put Missy through in a day. It's just past two, but that just means she has time to rest, play, and explore.

Shane does a good inspection of his feet for any signs of blisters. The trail runners seem to be breaking in well, and the pack isn't rubbing too badly despite being over what he knows would be recommended for hiking the AT before. Setting up his tent in the upper level of the shelter, he makes sure his food and smelly toiletries are all in bags he can take down to the table with him.

The notice board with the advice not to hang food bags because the bears are smart enough to get the bags out of trees makes him laugh. At least they've got bear boxes here, since he decided against bear vaults to save weight. Although there are squirrels in plentiful numbers, he only takes down one of the chittering little nutjobs to get in practice with one of the two slingshots he's carrying.

Missy is overjoyed with her squirrel supper, especially when he rehydrates a small handful of blueberries for her. For himself, he finishes off the last can he's carrying. The chicken and dumplings aren't as good as homemade or the diner back home, but it's a treat.

Since he worries about losing track of food intake on his own, he makes note of the day's meals for him and Missy both in the trail journal. Not having anyone who can verbalize reminders of self care is going to take getting used to. He's had Rick at his side for too many years.

After a creek bath and hanging today's washed clothing to dry in the shelter, he ends up going to sleep even though it's still light outside, Missy snoozing comfortably beside him. One day on the trail. A lot of miles to go.

Shane and Missy are up at dawn for a shared breakfast of instant oatmeal, his bananas and cream and hers plain. He gives her a pouch of milk powder, too, when he opts for a milk and instant coffee combo that sounds worse than it tastes. Years of station coffee keeps him immune to bad coffee, he thinks. 

Back on the trail, today he forages a bit more, and when he nears the stop for the night, Shane lucks into a rabbit frozen in the trail. Supper entree acquired, he still snags a squirrel for Missy to round out her day's protein. Rabbit with fresh greens and a handful of mushrooms makes for a change from cans or pouches.

August 8th, 6:22 p.m., Gooch Mountain Shelter is the note for that night's journal.

Missy sleeps next to him again after he makes the journal note, her warmth almost too hot for the August heat even in the mountains. But Shane thinks he wouldn't trade the loyal little dog for anything now. His legs are feeling the strain a bit, but it just reminds him he's alive.

They keep trekking, day by day, him recording their stops each night. Shane takes advantage of old hostel locations to scout out replacement supplies. He even manages a cold as hell shower at one place, water pressure still solid in the tanks because the place either evacuated or died off early. They stayed in the hostel that night after seeing the bear vaults required notices.

Risking himself and his food to a black bear is one thing. He's not risking Missy. While he did keep the shotgun despite the weight, the idea of shooting a bear just because he's a careless asshole in its territory seems wrong.

Just after three on the fifteenth of August, he and Missy stand on the state border between North Carolina and Georgia. He leans his trail poles against a tree and fishes out a snack of beef jerky for him and Missy both.

"We're leaving home for sure now, girl. Can turn back or keep going north. Thirteen more states ahead for us, you know."

She just gnaws her jerky and wags her tail. Missy would probably follow him all the way to Alaska if they get to Maine and he decides to head west on a lark. He makes a note of the time and estimated mileage, 78.5 by the guidebook.

Picking up his poles again, he tilts his head toward North Carolina, grinning when Missy jumps to her feet. She knows the routine now. Shane picking up those hiking poles means time to go.

She catches her first rabbit all on her own just before they reach the shelter at Muskrat Creek that night. Even though she brings it to him, he lets her have the whole thing and gives himself a treat of a freeze dried chili mac dinner and a couple boxes of yogurt raisins. The hunting success gives him a lot of relief, because if something happens to him, Missy might be able to hunt and feed herself.

Eleven days on the trail and they reach the hundred mile mark. Shane commemorates it by climbing the Albert Mountain Fire Tower and having lunch with the mountain vista around him and Missy.

"See, girl, this is the moment people like to stick up on social media, back when that was still a thing. Wouldn't mind a picture myself, but since I don't have the first foggy clue about film development, just as well I didn't snag one of those disposable cameras."

Missy just crawls into his lap for a nap. The hike here was more mountain climb than trail hike, and she's exhausted. It makes him eye the old live-in quarters on the tower with a smirk. It's not like Shane will get a ticket or arrested for breaking in, now is it?

They spend two days in the tower heights, just enjoying the view all the way into Tennessee. "If we come back this way, we should figure out the best route into Tennessee, Missy. Could keep going and see how the Ozarks shape up. Bet they look like hills after this, but the Mississippi River is supposed to be something special."

But they can't stay in the fire tower forever, especially if a thunderstorm comes through. Shane does not want to be on a 5,000 foot mountain in a fifty-five foot steel tower with lightning dancing around them. Missy balks at the stairs down, so he figures out how to strap her to his torso for the first time.

A glance at his watch means seeing the August 20th date and wondering for the first time in days if Carl and Rick are okay. He hasn't been gone a month yet, but it's getting close. 

"Doubt they miss me, girl. Probably still all good riddance to bad rubbish, 'cept maybe Carl. Should have told the boy goodbye. Hated that he might have cried though. Makes me a coward, that."

The little dog doesn't judge, accepting his confession with forgiving eyes and plenty of doggie affection as always. Damned if Shane can remember anymore why he never got a dog. Could have paid that neighbor boy to help out when he worked doubles. Kid would have appreciated the money.

Heavy rain sends them down into Franklin, North Carolina. They hole up in an abandoned house for two days. Shane takes advantage of the pouring rain to wash all his clothing and hang it around the dusty living room. Missy prances in the rain as he takes a shower in the downpour, buck ass naked in a backyard that was once the lady of the house's prize rose garden.

"Too bad the bugs would eat my ass alive, girl. Be a lot less washing if I could stay naked like you."

Missy's supper for two nights running might or might not have been the same homeowner's prize koi. Things are going to suffer and die in that artificial pond eventually, and he's not sympathetic enough to trek them to some creek. Missy sleeps the deep sleep of the well fed both nights, and Shane splurges on the expensive goodies still edible in the pantry.

On the evening of the 28th, he and Missy make camp in their first trail shelter in Tennessee. The dog is an almost expert hunter now, and Shane has reaching for the slingshot down to second nature. They haven't seen anything larger than a raccoon since leaving Georgia. While he worried about food back at the beginning, they're doing well between foraging, hunting, and resupply from old hostels and things left in the trail boxes.

Just for the novelty of it, they stay three days at Clingmans Dome in Tennessee. There's a butt ugly observation tower that makes him miss the joy of the fire tower, amidst a lot of quiet disturbed by little other than him and his canine companion.

"Guidebook says it's the highest point on the trail, Missy. Ought to celebrate that like we did that fire tower, right?"

Chipmunks abound around the shelter, and for the first time, he humors Molly by eating a kill she's provided. The dog's ravages seem to scare off the remaining small residents, and Shane spares an amused thought for the tales of the monster massacre the survivors would pass on if they could.

This part of the trail nearest Gatlinburg brings them into contact with walkers for the first time since Georgia. It almost takes Shane too long to react, because he forgot the smell, sound, and sight. Missy didn't, and the feisty little gal hamstrings the first one and buys him time to get his head out of his ass to take down two more with the slingshot. Rotted as their skulls are, the missile impact is as effective as a bullet.

After putting down Missy's crawler, he cleans her mouth carefully and kisses the top of her furry little head. "Sorry, sweetheart. I'll do better so you don't have to taste that nastiness again."

Christ, he knows animals don't turn, but still, even accidental ingestion of the rotten bastards can't be healthy for Missy. The incident rattles him too much to camp near Gatlinburg. They rough it in the woods near the trail for the first time that night. The tent works well enough to keep the bugs off.

If he cries into Missy's fur for nearly getting them both killed today, no one knows but them.

On September 4th, they cross back into North Carolina. "Two hundred and ten miles," Shane notes carefully in his journal. "Ten times that to go."

Still in the Smokies, they hike half a day in drizzling rain. It means a stop in a shelter sooner than planned, because Shane knows damp and wet in September might be a little safer than December, but it's still not smart. Hitting the downhill miles out of Great Smoky Mountains National Park seems to cheer Missy up, and she makes Shane laugh at her hyperactive play.

The downhill makes the long hike feel easier, and they log their longest hiking day yet at nearly twenty miles. Remembering the crazy, punishing pace away from Senoia, he likes this one so much better. Reaching Interstate 40 is a little jarring, but they trek under and keep going.

Overnighting at the hostel means clearing out a pair of walkers, but Shane feels like he redeems himself for Gatlinburg now. The place looks like it wasn't the best place for the trail before, but it's enough to wash clothes on an old fashioned scrub board and use the wringer. He gives himself and Missy a thorough health check as best he can while they rest indoors.

The hostel provided a chance for hikers to buy supplies, so Shane and Missy pig out while they're there. Since the place offered a kennel option, he can even restock Missy's slowly depleting backup dog food. In a staff housing area, he finds a bathroom with a scale. 

He's lost close to ten pounds from the weight he had at the Amicalola lodge, but Missy is holding steady. Not sure if he needs to be more careful on his caloric intake, or if it's just natural slimming from not working his torso and shoulders as much, Shane reminds himself to be careful.

Days turn to weeks in the Cherokee National Forest, bringing them back into Tennessee. "Just about feels like going in circles," he jokes to Missy." 

He doesn't mind the trail winding back and forth, not really, but the idea of leaving Georgia so fast and then zigzagging a state line for ages is funny. Shane thinks his sense of humor has a pretty low bar nowadays. Nights are cold enough in the latter part of September that he's lit fires in the shelters with fireplaces, and the extra layer of clothing that was dead weight for miles is finally useful during the day.

At four p.m. in late September, Shane pauses by the sign indicating a new state at last. "Virginia. Numero quatro for our state count. Never been this far north, you know. Got suspended for busting some asshole in the nose the week before the senior trip to DC."

Rubbing at the beard growth he's let go unchecked since the Smokies, he eyes that state line marker. "Wasn't lying about people in Virginia, girl. Me and you? Maybe we think about wintering in Virginia somewhere and take us a walk through Arlington if we can reach it come spring. Don't care much about my daddy's grave, but Papaw's? Think Grandma Jean would appreciate me paying my respects."

Missy is game for that plan, so Shane leads the way into Damascus, Virginia and the abandoned hostel there. As they tuck in to sleep for the night, enjoying a bed and plenty of soft blankets, he scribbles in the trail journal again.

September 25, 2010, 470 miles on the Trail. 

Two months since he walked away from the only family he's had since Grandma Jean died. He prays they're safe and happier without him serving as a reminder that their perfect little family hides a sneaky secret.

Doesn't stop him from wondering if one day that child will take back the surname they should have had. Maybe they'll bring more honor to it than Shane or his father ever did. If not, it's probably equally fitting for it to die out with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a informational chapter, I suppose, although I tried not to get too grindy on the day to day of the trail.
> 
> Next chapter: Shane encounters a roaming Shirewilt resident and accidentally begins a legend for himself. Will probably end with his first encounter with Jesus.
> 
> The general plan is that the other half of the Trail hike will be a big summary chapter, too, although that's a lot more states and miles to clump up. He'll winter at Hilltop, leave in the spring to finish his hike, then return and encounter Aaron in early summer.
> 
> By the time Rick's group heads to VA in October 2011, Shane will be an established resident at Hilltop.


	6. Superhero and Sidekick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane leaves the trail to find a winter camp and ends up going to play imitation EMT at a place called Shirewilt, but old memories threaten to overwhelm him, sending him and Missy back to the Trail and the Shenandoah National Forest.

Although Shane mentioned settling somewhere in Virginia to Missy once headed into Damascus, the combination of good weather and a decent map of Virginia convinces him to head further north on the trail before he settles for the winter. Safest place for a lone man and a dog is somewhere with walls or shores, he thinks, and the map he got at the hostel shows a state park not far from Roanoke that looks interesting. 

It’s far enough from the small city to be isolated due to the lake, and close enough that they should have a good stash of supplies to raid. Not to mention the lake at the park providing a good source of food and water for them both.

They hike back onto the trail on the twenty-sixth. By the end of the day two days later, they’ve passed a herd of the wild ponies his guidebook mentions along this part of the trail and the 500 mile marker. It’s a sign that walkers haven’t wandered this high, not that he thinks the bastards could catch the rugged little animals. The lack of walkers in this area is further reinforced when they hike through the highlands and spot a herd of regular old cows, probably long abandoned by any human caretakers.

The second day of October brings them to an interesting milestone: one quarter of the entire trail hiked. Shane also encounters the fun of the trail going through more cow pastures. The cattle in one of them have the first sign of a walker in the area, but the crippled thing can’t even crawl.

Shane puts it out of its misery as the cows watch from a distance. “Dumb bastard. Cows are mean shits in large enough numbers. Bit off more than you can chew.” He calls Missy back from her flirtation at remembering her breed herds cattle, urging her onward from the once human now left to finish rotting away in the middle of a Virginia cow field.

Two days later, they stay in a shelter that’s completely enclosed, and he’s glad of it, because they also see their first black bear the next morning. From the bunk that gives him access to see out the windows on the upper level of the shelter, Shane watches the bear snuffle around, probably sensing him and Missy in the area. It doesn’t mess with the door of the shelter though, finally wandering out of sight from the shelter.

“Damn, girl, I figured we would see one eventually, but to have it wander by here is like that sign summoned it.” This section of the trail is marked as the Beartown Wilderness of the Jefferson National Forest, after all.

Missy just prances, ready to get started on the trail. After so much time outdoors, the little dog gets grumpy in anything resembling a house this closely. It’s going to make winter a bit of an adjustment for her, Shane thinks.

October sixth sees them crossing Interstate 77. It’s funny how the trail goes from wilderness to civilization, but that was probably a good thing before. Places like this tend to have walkers more often, so he’s on alert until they’re miles away. Once again, the lack of walkers on the trail is almost eerie, but considering some of the climbs and elevation are damned near impossible for him and Missy, the dead are out of luck with no brains to plan.

On the ninth, they reach where the trail winds along the West Virginia and Virginia borders. “Kinda symbolic, Missy. Book says there’s nine miles of border here. Wanna go check out West Virginia for a change?”

Since she doesn’t care much, and Shane’s never particularly been enamored of West Virginia, he just logs the fifth state in their trail journal. On the twelfth, a note that they’ve reached the Eastern Continental Divide joins it. They encounter multiple bears around Tinker Mountain on the fifteenth, but the big animals just flat out ignore him and Missy as if they aren’t there at all. Shane decides to push the hiking a little further, glad that staying alert for walkers works even better for wildlife.

Although he really wouldn’t mind not ever having to wash bear poop off Missy’s feet again, where the dog managed to step in a pile of droppings while trying to keep her eye on the actual bear waddling off into the distance. The sight of a mauled walker further down the trail gives him another reason why there may not be many of the cannibals around. If cattle in a herd are dangerous, bears are downright predatory.

Reaching Daleville on the sixteenth, he snorts at the name, allowing himself to wonder if the old bastard is still alive down in Georgia. He probably caught hell if he honored Shane’s request not to tell where Shane was going. 

There are enough walkers here to make Shane a little concerned about staying on foot in populated territory, so he takes the time to check out vehicles until they find an old pickup with the keys behind the visor. “You see, Missy, the old Shane would bitch for half an hour straight about this kinda stupidity. But your Shane? He’s just glad the old man was lazy and figured no one would steal a truck this old.”

It has an almost full tank of gas, too, but Shane’s plan of making a drive out to see if the state part is a viable winter camp gets derailed when they hear screaming. Missy barks urgently, and her human just sighs and hides his pack in the truck, locking it and takes the keys. Shotgun, Glock, slingshot, and knife available, they set off at a jog.

The group is pinned down in an old pharmacy, probably caught raiding for supplies. He opts for the slingshot first. Miles of the Trail have fine tuned his skill with the seemingly childish weapon to where he’s practically better with it than the Glock. The near silent weapon lets him drop eight walkers before any of them ever notice him and Missy, where the dog is guarding him, a subvocal growl beginning as three of the dead assholes start their way.

He drops all three, checking his ammo bag for more of the steel shot he collected back in North Carolina to replenish his supply. The steel shot is reserved for walkers, where deadly accuracy is important, versus the animals, where a stunning blow from an irregularly shaped rock might just mean no fresh meat for supper. By the time the second handful is gone, there are sixteen walkers down by nothing more than marble sized projectiles.

“What the hell?” a young man says, much too loudly considering they were just trapped by something attracted by now. His Virginia Tech sweatshirt is torn at one elbow, but he looks uninjured. “What the hell was killing these things?”

A girl with the group slaps his shoulder and points at Shane and Missy. “Keep it down, dumbass. Pretty sure the man auditioning for Beowulf over there is what killed them, Lonnie.”

Lonnie nudges a walker with his boot, staring first at the dead thing and then back at his unexpected rescuer. “Mighty good of you to help us out, mister. You some kind of vigilante, or you got a group around here?”

Four more people make their way out of the store, some carrying heavy packs, and all of them intent on Shane. None seem aggressive, and all look as young as Lonnie and the girl, so he just shrugs. “Force of habit. Used to be a cop, back when that mattered. Missy and I will just be on our way.”

“Wait!”

It’s also an old habit for Shane to hesitate when a female sounds like she needs help, so he sighs and turns back to the girl who first noticed him. “Ma’am?”

She giggles tiredly. “Ain’t old enough to be called ma’am, but I’m guessing you’re from way down south for that. Anyway, you know of any medical places around? Or know of any groups with doctors?”

Shane shakes his head. “Just passing through. Needed to resupply.” No sense in telling them he was considering staying in the area, because with a group nearby, that plan probably needs to be revised. “You got sick people with you?”

The girl sighs, and he guesses she might be twenty at a stretch, but he thinks she’s younger. “You could say that. Our group’s got a pregnant woman due to deliver any day now. We keep going further and further for food and medical supplies.”

“How far is that?” It’s a question she really shouldn’t answer, but he really would like to know how far he needs to move onward.

“About two and a half hours, the way things used to be. More like four now.”

Easily over a hundred miles away then. Shane guesses somewhere around Richmond, a populated area he definitely wouldn’t worry about wintering in. It’s concerning that they’re this far out, all the way past Lynchburg, though. “It’s that bad in Richmond you can’t get supplies there?”

“Everything north of the James River is toast, man. Not just walker toast, but just poof! National Guard blew the bridges over the river near Richmond. Even if you get across the river, there’s nothing to be found.” It’s Lonnie who gives this information, looking disgusted. 

It sounds like the military got overwhelmed and abandoned Virginia’s capital city the same way they did Georgia’s. “Might be safer to move away from Richmond, you know.”

The girl scoffs. “We’re safe enough where we are, but we don’t have enough food or medicine for the winter. Not even a damned EMT to help deliver the baby either.”

Being reminded of the baby makes Shane’s gut churn, thinking of Lori. She’s got Hershel, at least, and from what he could tell, Patricia and Maggie had some medical skill, too. Hell, technically, he and Rick passed training for emergency deliveries, although he’s the only one who ever had to use it. Damn Rick and his appointment at the podiatrist’s of all places that day.

The way the girl is eyeing him, she’s thinking the exact same thing, that cops sometimes deliver babies. He sighs. “I delivered a baby, once, about six years ago. But that was with an ambulance on the way. Just damned luck nothing went wrong.”

“That’s still more than any of us know.” She shifts around, stepping over and around the dead to come closer. “You don’t gotta stay with us, mister, but we need help. Maybe at least teach us what to do?”

Missy responds to the plaintive tone and whines, circling his feet in agitation. Shane figures it can’t hurt to at least go assess the situation, even if it is over a hundred miles completely in the wrong direction from anywhere he wants to be.

“Alright. I suppose I can at least go teach y’all some first aid.” And figure out why not a damn one of them seems to have a gun anywhere on them. He understands not wanting to attract walkers with the sound of gunshots, but braving formerly populated areas with no long range weapon is damn near suicide.

His assent makes the girl come close enough to offer him a grubby hand. Shane shakes it, his own not much cleaner after a half day on the Trail. 

“Name’s Amanda, mister. What do we call you?”

Thinking of what she implied he was when she first saw him, he just gives her a weak smile. “Beowulf works just fine.” After the bears on the trail the last few days, it does seem appropriate enough. “Y’all got transport back home, or did you walk all this way?”

Amanda laughs, rolling her eyes at him. “Yeah, we got wheels. You?”

Going that far from the Trail, he doesn’t figure on walking, and he doesn’t like the idea of climbing in someone else’s vehicle, even if they seem innocent enough. Just a bunch of college aged kids trying to get by in a world none of their classes prepared them for. “Got a truck a couple blocks away. Can give you a ride back to yours.”

That’s how Shane finds himself with five college kids in the bed of the battered old copper brown seventies model Ford pickup. Amanda claims the passenger seat, eyeing the big hiking pack curiously as she directs him to an intersection on the northeast side of town. “You a hiker, Bear Man?”

Shane shrugs as he navigates around a wreck left to rust in the street. “As good a thing to do as any, the way the world is now.”

“There a lot of walkers up in the mountains?”

“Not really. Elevations are harder on them than us, and the animals sure as hell don’t like them very much.” 

“That sounds like you saw some things up there.” 

“Might have. Cattle and bears neither one are healthy for walkers.”

“Eww. Please tell me the bears aren’t eating walkers.”

Recalling the mauled, yet scattered, walker, Shane shakes his head. “They seem smart enough not to bother. Might not be hungry enough this time of year though. Be interesting to see if they would come spring, when things are leaner for them.”

Pulling in next to an old Dodge minivan, he watches the boys all jump out of the back and scramble for the Dodge. “You going with them?”

Amanda shakes her head. “Somebody needs to make sure you find the place.”

The cop in him grumbles, and he’s gruff when he replies. “Dammit, girl, you don’t know me from Adam. Didn’t your daddy ever teach you not to ride with strange men?” It didn’t bother him, with the bed of the truck full of people she at least knew.

“You did say you were a cop.” But she concedes his argument, yelling for Lonnie to get his ass back to the truck and going to rejoin her companions.

The boy has the build of a football player, up close like this, and seems as close mouthed as Amanda was chatty. They follow the minivan all the way to Powhatan and a once flourishing little planned development called Shirewilt Estates. Shane grimaces at the lack of security the place has. They seem to be relying only on the original development fencing, which can’t be more than four feet high.

“How many walkers y’all have get in here?” he asks, hoping Lonnie will stop imitating a lump of wood and answer. If not, he figures Amanda will spill all.

“Not many. They just kind of bump into the fences and then we smack them with something and drag them off. Once they’re good and dead, they waste away fast, like some weird science experiment.”

“Ever thought about making the fences taller? Hate for one to just fall over the damned things and get up to snack on you kids in your sleep.”

Lonnie looks back at the fenceline. “Think we could? Building shit we can find pretty easy. Have to ask Mrs. Fisher, though. She’s mostly in charge here.”

“You didn’t live here before?”

“Nah. Amanda’s from here, and so’s Jeffrey, but the rest of us didn’t have anywhere to go after the college shut down the dorms. She brought us home with them. We were all studying over at Lynchburg. It’s why we scavenged over that way today. Know the area better than north or south.”

The minivan pulls over in front of a nice house, and Shane follows suit, going to introduce himself to the tall, dark-skinned woman in charge of the place and her twin teenage sons.

His stay lasts just over two weeks, and Shane drives away from Shirewilt in the predawn hours on the morning of Halloween. There’s a gate now and enough of a start on a real fence that he thinks the seventeen people living there might have a fighting chance as long as no one turns inside the fence. He can see Amanda getting smaller in the rear view mirror where she watches from the gate.

The teenager didn’t want him to leave, he knows, but after last night’s delivery of that baby and the fight to get the newborn boy to just fucking breathe, he can’t stay. Jackson will live, dubbed with a name the grateful mother asked Shane to give. His grandfather’s name is a strong one, but Shane can’t stay and look at the tiny baby and his overwhelmingly happy parents and not feel torn in two for what he left behind.

The drive back to Daleville is the first time he really, truly regrets leaving Georgia. They even hike all the way back to the bears at Tinker Mountain before he finds himself sobbing uncontrollably with Missy huddled close. 

That’s not an option either, is it? If he can’t see someone else hover over a newborn baby, how in hell would he ever watch Rick dote on Shane’s own child and not lose his damned mind exactly as he feared when he walked away from the farm in July.

After he can’t cry anymore, he and Missy reverse course and head back north. Four days after leaving Shirewilt and the new life he labored to save, he and Missy cross the James River on a footbridge. He knows they don’t need to keep going with winter fast approaching and the nights already cold enough to make them huddle together at night. But he can’t fucking stop, not yet.

Six days later, he makes note of the 800 mile marker in his journal, his first note since the detour off trail. “Wonder if anyone will ever find this and wonder why we stopped for two weeks, girl?” he asks Missy. She wags her tail and darts off into the underbrush, returning with a chipmunk. The dog can’t fix his emotional hurts completely, so she’s been trying to feed him instead.

It’s November eleventh before he sees another human being, and it’s not walkers that have the man trapped on top of one of the cabins in the campground in the Shenandoah National Forest, but a cranky bear. Shane eyes the bear and the man for a minute, knowing there’s no way this guy’s a hiker, not dressed like he is. Missy springs to action faster than he does, yipping a high pitched bark that draws the bear’s attention. 

She dashes off, drawing the bear away and staying out of reach enough it eventually gets bored before it notices Shane or returns to its original task of harassing the man atop the cabin.

Once he’s certain the dog is safe, Shane approaches, looking up to the man on the roof. “You walking in the Shenandoah with bologna underwear or something?” he asks.

The quip earns him a laugh as the man slides to the ground, tugging his bandana down from his face. “I think I startled it, where it was rummaging around in some left behind food. It’s revenge was making me climb a building and spending an hour bitching at me for messing up its meal.”

Shane blinks at just how fast the man speaks, knowing it’s something that would make Rick laugh his ass off, because it used to be Shane who could natter on that fast and with that kind of flourish. If not for the weeks at Shirewilt, he isn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t think the guy was speaking a foreign language.

Missy’s return draws the man’s attention, and he kneels to pet and praise the little dog. “Aren’t you just a superhero doggie? Did you chat up the bear and convince him I would taste worse than pretty much anything else out here?”

“Probably taste better than a walker. Bears don’t eat those.”

Hearing him speak makes Missy’s rescuee look up and smile, which lights up his entire face. He stands and offers a hand. “Paul Rovia, although my friends call me Jesus.”

Shaking his hand, Shane nods toward the dog. “She’s Missy, but she does fancy herself a superhero.”

“And you?”

“Just her sidekick.”

“One with no name?” Paul’s teasing him now, lighthearted enough Shane almost thinks he’s flirting.

“Last person to call me anything used Beowulf.” Amanda uttered it as she hugged him hard enough to hurt him, hoping he wouldn’t actually leave.

“Ah. I suppose I can see the reasoning.” He’s given an assessing once over by Paul, taking in the layers added for warmth as winter snakes onto the trail and leaves everything frosted as Shane and Missy set out each morning. “Seems appropriate, considering the Trail and the names given here. Bit cold for hiking though. You headed south?”

Shaking his head, Shane points north. “Started out in Georgia. Headed north still.”

Paul looks down at Missy, still happy about her success in conquering the bear. “Tough journey for a dog that small. Ever considered waiting out the cold somewhere for the winter?”

Shane considers the dog and the hard push of hiking he’s done in the past two weeks. It isn’t fair to make Missy pay for his emotional upheaval. “You got a group?”

The wide smile on the bearded man’s face promises an interesting surprise, Shane thinks, but somehow he ends up following Paul to a waiting vehicle and watching as Missy stretches out on the bench seat of the truck to lay her head in the other man’s lap as he drives.

It’s safer for Missy to be with a group for the winter, and the dog seems really taken with Paul. Shane’s just going to trust her judgement for now and marks the trail journal for November 11th, 915 miles done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yipes, this ran long. It felt like it needed more of the Trail to flesh out how Shane got from Damascus to Daleville. You can map out the towns if you like, since Daleville is a tiny place north of Roanoke, Virginia. For this story, I plopped Shirewilt out near Powhatan, a ways out from Richmond proper. In Shane's panicky two week hike after leaving Shirewilt, he makes it as far as the Lewis Mountain Campground in the middle of Shenandoah National Park, about 25 miles due west of Culpeper, Virginia, where Hilltop is sometimes mapped to be.
> 
> The glossed over Shirewilt time period is intentional. Mrs. Fisher is Noah's mother - and she'll fill in those blanks for Rick's group when they make it that far north.
> 
> On the Appalachian Trail, many hikers are given "trail names" by other hikers. Some are descriptive, some silly, some boring. I figure a literature major like young Amanda would spot Shane after his months in the mountains and think of Beowulf pretty quickly. He keeps it because he likes the idea of shedding his old identity under the guise of the old tradition.
> 
> As of this chapter, I'm officially over 1 million words published within a single year, excluding the duplication found in the Bunny Farm. That's a whole lot of Shane positive chapters out there! ;)


	7. Christmas Wishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected blizzard causes two very different Christmases to happen.

Settling into Hilltop isn't as much of an issue as Shirewilt was. The fact that it looks so little like a regular neighborhood development helps. Barrington House is something out of a different century, fitting in oddly well with the timber walls. The cluster of FEMA trailers clashes with the historic look, but it's the visual that Shane needs to remember how the world changed.

His initial meeting with Gregory goes as he expects. His rough appearance from months on the trail, combined with him not giving his formal name, means he's dismissed with a huff and orders to have Jesus find a use for him. Shane honestly expects the man only allows him to stay because he can hunt.

It makes him wonder if he would have been allowed to stay at all as Shane Walsh, the deputy. Something about the man makes him wary, like the politicians back home that only looked out for themselves. Having someone seeming to be law and order probably wouldn't sit well with someone like Gregory.

Six weeks into his winter stay at Hilltop, he's out on a run with Jesus. Hunting does end up his primary job, but when Jesus needs to scout an area he thinks is risky, they team up. This trip is for food to make it through the expected snow of January, and everything close, safe, and easy is already stripped clean.

They cruise slowly into town, Jesus behind the wheel of the little diesel engine cargo truck. If they find a good supply, larger teams will follow to further stock up. But with today being Christmas, Shane was considering a hunt to avoid the celebration at Hilltop. Jesus offered a scouting trip instead, and they're both hoping for a decent load today in case the weather shifts.

"Don't know why they let you do this alone," Shane mutters, leaning forward to keep a mental count of walkers as they navigate vehicle strewn streets to the warehouse Jesus scouted out from a distance. Cold makes them sluggish and slow to react to the sound of the engine.

"Gregory isn't known for tactical thinking, so it was easy to shrug it off. Even the good supply runners aren't always good under pressure." Jesus's voice is calm and accepting. Considering Shane found him trapped by a bear, he thinks even a nervous set of eyes is still a second set.

Letting it slide since Jesus takes him along now, Shane pets Missy absently where she's perched between them on the seat. "Snow's not my wheelhouse, but I think we need to be careful. Clouds look awful heavy overhead."

"No snow for Georgia boys, huh?" It's one of those small hooks the other man uses, seeking personal information without seeming to be nosy.

"Only in the mountains regularly. Lived south of Atlanta, so it was rare and random."

Jesus chuckles. "Probably shut down everything for a single snowflake, too."

"Plus wiped out all the milk, bread, and eggs for miles around." Not that he ever had the luxury of staying home in foul weather, but the insanity that grips the Southernmost states when snow appears is still entertaining.

Circling the huge warehouse store doesn't turn up more walkers than they can handle. Just to be overly cautious, they still put down the six walkers that wander up, dragging the bodies into the brush to hide the fact that someone is actively using the truck at the dock. Testing the doors shows them their luck doesn't stretch that far.

Jesus sighs and shoulders the emergency pack they both carry at Shane's insistence. "Guess we get our exercise in and practice our burglary skills today."

"You are mighty handy with that lockpick," Shane teases. He may not be sharing all with Jesus, but it's mutual. Over time, he's pretty sure his run partner is former military, but not more than that. He does have a host of skills that would skirt legality, once upon a time.

That earns him a snort. "Like you haven't worked your way through several types of locks since I taught you."

Shane almost smiles at that. The panic that sent him running from Shirewilt rarely rises up now. It helps that Hilltop has no babies or pregnant women, and none of the dozen or so kids remind him of Carl. They find him fascinating, but currently still from a distance, unlike Jesus's usual pied piper routine. Other than lessons in cleaning and butchering game he brings in, Shane rarely actually interacts with anyone except Jesus.

"Can't exactly gain entry legally anymore. Better than breaking glass, right?"

They don't circle to the front and the customer entrances, because without power, getting the doors open - and closed again - is next to impossible. There's always an employee entrance somewhere, with a regular door and lock. Jesus has that open quickly, and they both switch on headlamps taken from their packs and bring their scented bandanas up to cover their faces. Missy hovers behind them, making that low growl that signifies walkers near.

The employee break room is not in terrible shape. The vending machine still looks reasonably full. "Time to ring the dinner bell," Shane quips. Jesus readies his blades, and Shane his machete, before Shane pounds a fist on the metal trash can as if he were serving a warrant back in the day.

The single entry point makes it easy to take down the seven walkers in the store. Two wear ragged employee vests, but the rest could be customers. Dragging the bodies clear of their backup exit, they still sweep through the store. The caution proves wise, as two walkers are trapped in the deli area and another in the ladies room.

"You think maybe a couple employees brought their families or friends in?" Jesus asks, staring at the security gating over the glass customer doors. "Somebody sick or bitten?"

"Anything is possible. I mean, if you had keys to a place like this, it would be tempting to ride things out, right?"

Shane finds the information wall with the framed 8x10 photos. "Fella on the right looks familiar, don't he?"

Jesus steps close, shining his headlamp up. "Fat fella that took both of us to drag off? Only one wearing a shirt and tie."

"I'm guessing something went bad before they settled in. Didn't see any signs of them camping out."

"Guess we go find our truck."

By the time they've loaded the back of the cargo truck, it is snowing - and coming down hard. "Think we can make it to Hilltop?" Shane asks, staring out the windshield at the inch of snow accumulated on the cold pavement outside.

Jesus sighs, tugging his bandana down to rub at his bearded chin. "Probably. Not like we gotta worry about other drivers out there, right? And if it gets bad, we can pull over somewhere and wait it out."

"I'll trust the snowbird then." Shane glances back in the massive store. "Be right back."

When he and Missy return with scavenged camping gear, Jesus just laughs. "Trust you to think along those lines. I meant indoors."

"Yeah, if we can't find a place or it's stripped bare with no heat source, you will thank me for the winter grade sleeping bags. Meet me at the employee entrance? Might as well secure this from the inside."

Jesus nods, closing the roll down door of the cargo truck. Shane secures the dock door, jogging through the dark store and snagging the keys off the fat walker's belt. Locking the door behind him is much easier, and he drops them in the glove box as Missy jumps into the seat ahead of him.

"I should probably warn you this feels like last winter."

"Those snowstorms that shut down DC?"

Jesus nodded. "And we're up near the mountains right now, not the coast."

Visibility is decreasing rapidly, becoming questionable before they're halfway to Hilltop. Keeping alert for viable buildings, Shane points. "Chimney. If we're lucky, it's more than just for show."

There's enough of a lane beside the house to pull the truck off the main road. As fast as the snow is coming down now, it'll be hidden within an hour with a blanket of snow disguising it ever moved. Just another abandoned vehicle among thousands in Virginia.

Grabbing their packs, the two men and Missy bound out into the snow. Jesus works on the deadbolt of the house while Shane and Missy check the perimeter. There's just enough of a fence that walkers probably can't wander right up to the house. He kills one just outside the fence and returns just as Jesus is banging on the window nearest the door to draw any walkers.

Nothing appears, so they advance slowly into the house, blades ready. There's nothing alive or undead, although they both spare a flinch for the poor trapped bearded dragon and it's inevitable end by dehydration or starvation. Shane checks the big fireplace in the den. It looks well used, with a supply of firewood inside.

"Saw a covered woodpile out back. I'll bring in more wood if you get the gear out of the truck," Shane offers. Even with the prospect of beds and bedding in the house, at least the still packaged sleeping bags won't have months of dust and possibly mildew.

They make short work of stocking the den with wood and supplies, raiding the kitchen pantry as well. Jesus duct tapes the dusty blankets over the windows as Shane gets a fire started. It's been cold all day, but it's like the sight of snow makes it feel even colder. Heating water on the camp stove he sets up next to the fireplace for some ventilation at least nets them hot drinks.

"A white Christmas. Isn't that some sort of holy grail?" Jesus mutters, sipping at the coffee before going to rustle through a cabinet in the room. Returning with a bottle of bourbon, he doctors both their cups.

"Always seemed like it, although damn near impossible where I grew up." There's probably more liquor in his coffee than there should be, considering they're in the middle of nowhere. But Shane doesn't really care all that much.

"Guess not. Usually doesn't happen on the right day here, either." He flashes Shane an impish grin visible even in the firelight. "Bet you were the kid who snuck his presents early and pretended to be surprised on Christmas Day. Or lorded knowing over his siblings."

Shane scoffs, shaking his head. Maybe it's the day, or the alcohol, or just weeks of easy companionship, but he offers up something personal. "Just me and my mama and my grandma for a lot of years. Then it was me and my grandma til she passed. After that, I usually worked the holidays." It was one of the days he always worked solo, so Rick could get one guaranteed day with his family. That and Carl's birthday. The thought of his lost family doesn't hurt quite so much for some reason tonight.

"Grew up in group homes. Lots of dogooders coming in with presents, just to forget us the rest of the year." Jesus settles down crosslegged next to the fire. "Easier, later, to get those care packages in the Army. At least those arrived all year long."

Makes sense to Shane, and he files away the confirmation of his idea that Jesus had served. "I'm guessing you got out before the outbreak." Jesus looks puzzled, before Shane flicks the end of his long hair. "Didn't grow that inside a year."

That makes the other man laugh. "Good deduction, detective. Despite don't ask, don't tell, they had a tendency to encourage you to exit the service if they couldn't ignore it well enough."

By the wary side look Shane is getting, Jesus isn't sure how his admission will be received. He just huffs and sits down himself, shuffling through the food stash. "Law enforcement is the same way, most places. Had a deputy sticking firmly to not telling anything last couple of years. His partner knew. Me and mine did. But we kept it to ourselves."

"Almost as hard for me to picture you in uniform as it is for you to picture me."

Shane arches a brow, but ghosts a smile his way. Months without trimming has his hair getting past his usual controlled curl to something longer, and his beard is as thick as Jesus's now and less neatly trimmed. "Should see me after a shave and a haircut then."

The other man focuses on his coffee, but mumbles, "Nah. Like it the way it is."

Shane starts to think on what that might mean, but like most things that feel too personal, he decides to ignore it. Instead he warms up supper, making a vegetable goulash of sorts from canned goods. Missy whines for her share, and he figures it's Christmas, so why not.

Later, when the room is toasty warm, and they've shed their outer layers of clothing, Shane is sprawled on one end of the couch and Jesus on the other. Both of them are pleasantly liquored from additional sampling of the bourbon. Missy snores near the fire, belly full and feeling safe and content.

"If you could have anything for Christmas, what would it be? Ignoring the obvious, like no walkers."

Shane rolls his head to peer at Jesus, wondering at the whimsical question. The other man is as open as he thinks he's ever seen him, loose limbed in jeans and a white undershirt that was under all his layers. His socked feet are clad in some patterned socks Shane suspects are candy canes, a hidden bit of faith in the holiday.

"To see my baby born." While he wants to blame the bourbon, he knows it is just a need for someone other than Missy to know there's soon to be another Walsh out there somewhere. Surely, Rick is keeping them safe.

It sobers Jesus up fast. The man straightens, looking distraught. "Was she..." Trailing off, the man doesn't ask the question that plagues most survivors. Was she sick? Was she bitten?

"Far as I know, she's alive. Just didn't want me as the father." As if telling that much unblocks the dam, words flow out of Shane, telling his friend the whole sordid story. Jesus never seems horrified. If anything, he seems sympathetic.

"I'm sorry," he says softly when Shane runs out of words. "What they did? That wasn't right, and it wasn't fair. If it wouldn't land on the children's heads too, I would hope that karma would visit them."

They fall silent after that, because Shane isn't sure how to respond. His own thoughts still churn that way often enough. Finishing his drink, more bourbon than coffee, he sets the cup aside.

"What about you?" he asks, wondering what would be his friend's Christmas wish. He hopes it's something less impossible.

Jesus closes his eyes, sighing. "It's unlikely, all things considered. My luck never runs to it working out."

"It's a wish. Didn't say it had to be practical. Mine isn't."

"Well, mine is closer at hand, yet not going to happen."

Shane sits up so he can meet Jesus's eyes. Curiosity is lit within him now like the fire in front of him. "What is it?"

Focusing on a point across the room, Jesus sighs. "A kiss, okay. Specifically from you."

Shane's attention hones in on that. It's not something he's seriously considered before, aside from a drunken game of truth or dare in college that ended in the worst kiss ever with a teammate to impress a girl. While it got him laid, the kiss itself remains a drunken haze overlaid by the charms of the buxom blonde he woke up with.

Emboldened by alcohol and the idea that he can grant the wish and someone have what they want for Christmas, Shane moves forward, bracketing Jesus between his arms and leaning down for a kiss. Jesus responds almost immediately, a whimper sounding as the kiss goes from chaste to lingering quickly.

Oh hell, Shane underestimated just how good it would feel to be this close to someone again. The stimulus is different, feeling beard brushing his palm as he cups his hand to the back of Jesus's neck. There's no guilt here, no worry of being caught. Everything's different, yet that's exactly what feels right when he ends up chest to chest with a body as firmly muscled as his own.

Kiss after kiss follows, until they're drunk off more than bourbon. Shane can't have his Christmas wish, but in granting Jesus's, he's discovered a second one he didn't know to make.

~*~*~*~*~

So many years of yearning for a white Christmas, it is just Lori's luck that she finally sees one after the world's gone to hell. Huddling in unheated storage units makes delight in the unexpected snow even harder to muster up. She's shivering, despite the fact that she has more blankets in her little nest atop an old twin mattress than anyone else owns except the kids.

The adults did their best to make the holiday something festive for the four kids. Dale never stopped keeping time, even after they finally had to give up on his old RV. There's even hot chocolate thanks to powder packets Glenn and Maggie found somewhere.

Despite the fact that she was given two cups, both for warmth and calories, Lori is still cold. Nothing warms her up anymore. Rick rarely speaks to her, won't even touch her, and seems to place the blame entirely at her feet for Shane leaving. How the others bear the constant commentary of how Shane would do something differently, she doesn't know.

By walking away from the madness brewing between the three of them, Shane somehow twisted from sinner to saint in Rick's mind. The only reason Lori doesn't scream at the unfairness of being painted with the scarlet A is that she thinks Rick's obsession with his missing best friend will at least make him devoted to the baby. No matter how much Carol studies with Hershel, they're facing a C-section outside a hospital with a veterinarian as obstetrician, assisted by two vet techs and Carol. Lori knows what her odds are, but that's fine of the baby survives. She's come to terms with that by now.

Rick is keeping them on the road, almost constantly moving, but no one believes he's looking for a safe haven anymore. Lori's teeth chatter with her next shiver, and somehow alert to her misery, Beth looks up from where she's babysitting a boiling pot of water on the fire outside the storage unit. She smiles, innocent of the adult drama, and picks up a funnel. What Lori thought was more water for hot drinks gets poured into two hot water bottles.

"I asked Glenn to find some when he and Maggie went to raid in town. Luckily, no one loots these," Beth explains as she gently tugs Lori's blankets away enough to slip the heavenly warmth inside. With one clasped to her chest and another across her thighs, she finally feels a twinge of relief from the cold.

"If you lay down for a bit, I'll nap with you," Beth offers.

Lori complies, feeling the teenager press her too thin back against Lori's aching one. It's just enough warmth to allow her to relax. They'll rotate being human body warmers for her, she knows. When she wakes, it might be Carol or Sophia or Carl lying against her back. Always the kids or Carol, none of which have a lot of their own body heat to spare.

She just has to stay healthy for another month at least. The longer she can protect the baby in the only way she can, the better the baby's chances are, something that would be her Christmas wish if such things existed like on the Hallmark Channel. Rubbing her belly, she wonders once again if it would have been better to leave with Shane when he begged. Heart aching at the disloyalty of even considering taking Carl from his father, Lori falls into an uneasy sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rick's ability to obsess over the wrong things works well for a reason for them to wander the roads with a pregnant woman in winter.
> 
> Weather trivia for non-RBM readers: It really did snow in Georgia on Christmas Day in 2010. It was the precursor to a major blizzard that blew up the east coast and damn near burying the northeast part of the country (the record was 36 inches in NJ.)
> 
> Shane visual for those not reading _Swim_ : google Jon Bernthal in the movie _Sweet Virginia_.


	8. Signs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesus surprises Shane by celebrating his birthday and making him reevaluate the future, while the people he left behind face an equally lifechanging event.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, remember how I said this story would mostly follow canon for Rick's group until post-prison? The muse appears to have stolen the plotline and is off streaking naked into new territory. Oops?

Negotiations between Hilltop and another community have had Jesus preoccupied this week, so Shane honestly doesn’t expect to see the other man at all tonight. This new place is a good ally for them, looped in just like Shirewilt is, even if the leader weirdly titles himself a king. Once he knew they were looking for allies, he gave Jesus the Richmond area group’s location, as long as he promised not to reveal Shane was living at Hilltop for the winter. With what he’s been told about Lori and the baby, Jesus agreed with sad, thoughtful eyes meeting Shane’s.

The Christmas blizzard stranded them for three days, although to be honest, he suspects they could have made it home a day sooner. It was just nice to explore the accidental change in their friendship without any prying eyes. Shane’s not stupid. Apocalypse or not, everyone isn’t going to view two men together as anything positive.

It’s still not anything either of them publicize. About half of that is that they haven’t defined it as anything other than friends who happen to share a bed now. Instead of sleeping on Jesus’s lumpy as hell couch, Shane sleeps beside him on the slightly less uncomfortable mattress. FEMA did not design the trailers for long term comfort, especially for men his size.

Today’s hunt went rather well, with Shane taking out two Hilltop folks as part of a deal to teach them to hunt with winter making wider travel for supplies more risky. The snow still on the ground from the snowstorm two days ago helps. They didn’t get a foot or more of snow this time like before, just enough to make tracking easy for someone still learning as he goes like Shane. He knew the basics of tracking before, but his work schedule never allowed enough time in the woods to spend it laying snares and the like.

In addition to finding seven rabbits in snares, set to dangle carefully above walker height once sprung thanks to a lot of trial and error, they brought back a good sized buck. The butchers are a little more numerous than the hunters, so Shane was able to leave that to others and aim for a shower.

Pulling back the curtain, skin dripping the lukewarm water that’s the closest they get to hot, Shane spots Jesus leaning against the hallway wall. He arches a brow as he reaches for a towel for his hair, standing there unabashedly nude as he dries off his steadily lengthening curls. “Needed a peep show?” he asks, grinning.

“Always.” Jesus returns the grin. He’s obviously home for the evening, because he’s stripped off all his layers down to the thermals that anyone with sense wears under their clothing nowadays.

“Didn’t think you were making it back today. There’s some meat in the cooler, if you want to start up something for supper.” The trailer has a tiny fridge, but he wanted a shower worse than he wanted to unload the cuts he brought home for himself and Jesus from today’s hunt. Field dressing also gives him plenty of meat to supplement Missy’s diet, because these people haven’t gotten hungry enough to want to eat the internal organs yet.

“I put the stuff in the cooler away. Had a little incentive to make it back today.” When Shane glances up from drying off, a little alarmed, Jesus just smiles. “Nothing bad. Have you paid attention to today’s date?”

Shane shakes his head. Since he’s been settled at Hilltop for the winter, he rarely pays attention to the exact date, unless it's brought up specifically by someone else, like Christmas.

“It’s January twenty-eighth.”

That brings Shane to a standstill, raising his head slowly to meet Jesus’s gaze. The fact that the other man obviously peeked in his things enough to find his long buried wallet registers, because there’s no other reason for Jesus to bring up his birthday otherwise. Jesus’s smile is sweetly hopeful, though, and for some reason, he can’t bring himself to bitch about it. 

“Just another day, really.” Not even anything special, just turning thirty-six. Before, he’s not sure he would do anything other than meet Rick and his family for a birthday dinner at one of the local restaurants.

“You don’t celebrate your birthday?” 

When he shakes his head, there’s that sad expression that settles in sometimes, giving Jesus a more boyish look than normal, and Shane sighs, tossing his towel aside to go and kiss the other man. It’s half distraction for Jesus, half for him, he thinks. It works, because he’s able to ease the younger man down the hallway to the bedroom with little effort.

An hour later, Shane probably needs another shower, but it’s warm lying next to Jesus, whose hand is stroking idly along his chest. He’s thinking he could probably doze right off, although he needs to let Missy out at least one more time before he does that.

“I always made a big deal out of my birthday as an adult,” Jesus says softly, breath puffing across Shane’s shoulder and chest where he’s laying draped over him. “Because it was just another day as a kid in foster care. Figured once it was under my control, I was going to do it up right.”

It makes sense, Shane supposes. “Never did anything big as a kid. My mama didn’t have the money for the sitcom type birthday stuff. But she always took the day off. We spent it with my grandma. After they were both gone, it just didn’t seem much worth it.” 

“Ah.” Jesus raises up to his elbow to look down at Shane. “I did get you something, to make up for pilfering your bag to be nosy.”

Shane chuckles. “I’ll forgive the nosiness since you haven’t brought up whatever you figured out.” Considering neither of them have changed from using the firm nicknames they’ve chosen for this new world, the fact that Jesus knows the name he was born with isn’t all that worrisome. He knows Jesus’s given name, after all. 

Jesus leaves the bed long enough to retrieve an honest-to-god gift bag from his foot locker in the corner. Shane’s actually a little more interested in the athletically sculpted, nude body in front of him than the gift bag, but he takes it and looks inside. “A camera?”

Taking the box from him, Jesus rotates it and shows him the specifications. “Dustproof, waterproof up to three meters, shockproof for a meter and a half. Compact camera meant for the outdoors. I got a handful of extra memory cards, and there’s a solar charger in there, too. That one actually took me a little longer to find.”

Setting the camera box back in the bag, Shane studies the earnest, yet anxious, expression on his lover’s face. “It’s for the Trail, isn’t it?”

Nodding, Jesus settles back on the bed, studying his hands instead of looking at Shane. “I know you’re going to want to finish the Trail when spring comes. I understand wanting to finish that goal you set for yourself,” he says, voice sounding a little subdued. “And that you want to do it with just you and Missy. So, maybe bring me some pictures back?”

“Hey. Look at me.” Shane waits for those blue eyes to turn back his ways before he smiles. “I’ll bring you back pictures.”

“Yeah?” The damned hopeful look doesn’t have anything to do with Shane bringing back pictures, he knows. It’s bringing himself and Missy back that Jesus wants some sort of promise about.

“Yeah.” Hauling Jesus close, he delivers a kiss that leaves them both breathless and forgetting their earlier exertions, by the way Jesus pushes him to his back on the bed. Yielding to the need his lover obviously has to celebrate the closest they’ve come to any promises between them, Shane wonders if this is a sign that maybe it should really be a trio going north in the spring.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Hershel steps out of the bedroom turned miniature infirmary, feeling eighty instead of sixty. He aches all over, body reminding him that he’s no longer young enough to be pulling off hours-long surgeries like he did for years as a veterinarian. The fact that his current patient is human made it even more nerve wracking, but he’s reasonably certain of success at this point. Leaving Carol, Patricia, and Maggie behind to finish cleaning up the poor woman as best they can, he faces the cluster of waiting people with a tiny, tiny bundle in his arms.

“Is Mom okay?” Carl asks, sounding hoarse. Hershel suspects the boy’s been crying, surrounded by the two girls who’ve hovered near him since his father refused to even be in the cabin while the surgery was taking place.

“It’s in her hands and the Lord’s,” the veterinarian says tiredly. “Her health wasn’t the best already, and the labor took a lot out of her.” They had tried to avoid the surgery, since the risk of an impromptu surgery in a barely warm bedroom with minimum supplies seemed more risky that a trial of labor. But when the hemorrhage began, there was no choice but to put Lori so rapidly under anesthesia that he saw Patricia’s panic take hold for a full minute as the woman prayed she’d done it correctly while Maggie and Carol assisted Hershel in the frantic incisions. If she wakes, Hershel’s got to tell her that all he could save was the baby, and hopefully Lori herself. 

There will be no more children for Lori Grimes.

“The baby’s a girl,” he announces, watching as his own Bethie and young Sophia burst into anxious, happy tears, each coming to peek inside the flannel blankets. 

Carl ventures up slowly, looking afraid to try for his own peek at the baby. “She’s alive?”

The older man pulls back the blanket obscuring the newborn’s face so her brother can see the miniscule movements she makes as she takes panting little breaths. “For now.” He isn’t going to lie to the boy. “She’s developed enough that if she’s strong, and we’re all very careful of her, she could live.”

His greatest fear when Lori went into labor today was that Rick Grimes’s incessant belief that he fathered this child was correct. It would have put her at no more than thirty-two weeks gestation, a near impossibility to keep alive in a world without even a basic hospital nursery to entrust her care to. But the newborn breathed on her own, without any intervention from him or his helpers, and best as he can apply the Apgar score, she’s doing well. The real test will be to see if she can feed properly. By everything he can tell, she’s not young enough a preemie to be Rick’s child.

“What do we do?” The determination in the boy’s voice makes Hershel smile despite his worries and exhaustion. “How do we make her stronger?”

“She’ll need a lot of skin to skin contact, so we’ll all take turns holding her against our bare chests,” Hershel explains, grateful that his late wife’s fascination with the Discovery Health channel introduced him to the concept of kangaroo care. It makes sense, because small animal newborns are often kept against their owner’s body heat if the mother dies during the birth. “And she’ll need to be fed quite often, with us tracking her food intake and her weight.”

Carl reaches out finally, trembling fingers brushing along the baby’s silky soft cheek. She turns her head, blinking open slate blue eyes and focusing on her older brother. It’s a long moment where the elderly veterinarian watches the sibling bond click into place, and when Carl looks up again, his eyes are filled with tears. “Can I hold her?”

As soon as Hershel nods, the boy is actually scrambling to unbutton layers of clothing, exposing his own too thin chest even as he lets himself be pushed to sit on the couch. Once the baby is unwrapped enough to expose her down to the makeshift diaper that dwarfs her tiny frame, Carl holds her carefully to him as Beth brings a blanket to swaddle around them both.

Surprisingly, it’s Daryl who brings a bottle of perfectly warm milk. “If she can’t handle the bottle, we can go find something. Gotta be some place around with those weird ones for kittens if we have to go that small.” Hovering over the boy’s shoulder, Daryl helps him coax the baby to latch onto the bottle.

Everyone waits, just about holding their collective breath, until the preemie makes a smacking noise, and Daryl laughs, a rich sound that surprises everyone. The hunter’s usual laugh is near mocking, and even that hasn’t been heard much as winter ground itself in. “Yeah, she’s got the idea down pat already. Lil Asskicker ain’t gonna need nothing special to get food in her belly.”

T-Dog brings a notepad to lay on the end table next to Carl. “We’ll start her little journal right now. What do you need for Lori? It’ll be daylight soon. We’ll make a run. We got lucky that can of formula got left behind in one of the cabins.”

The firm confidence from the man is contagious. They weren’t ready for the premature birth, holed up in cabins at a state park because the cabins actually had wood burning fireplaces. It’s amazing how many of those so-called camping places had useless gas fireplaces. The freezing cold Christmas they spent seemed to be a breaking point after Sophia broke down sobbing about the cold to the hunter just prior to New Year’s. The weather turned so cold that a revolt against Rick’s roaming finally broke out, led by Daryl’s threat to leave Rick tied to a tree somewhere for endangering the children.

Speaking of Rick, Hershel asks, “He still outside?”

Daryl shrugs. “Last I looked. Told the dumbass he was going to freeze to death, and I was gonna amputate any frostbite with my buck knife without a lick of painkiller, but he ignored me.”

“I’ll go tell him the baby’s arrived,” T-Dog says, playing peacemaker between the men like he usually does, as their relationship seems to be permanently soured since the confrontation at the storage units. “And y’all get together a list of what the baby and Lori needs. Might try to make him go on the run. See if he’ll engage with the idea of looking out for her.”

The quiet confidence that both mother and child will live makes Hershel feel a little less exhausted. Gathering the slim tatters of his faith close, he looks at the baby cuddled amongst the teenagers and thinks that if he needed proof that God’s hand is still on their world, the determined little newborn is certainly about as strong a sign as the Almighty can deliver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This won't be a full scale revolt in Rick's group, just a case of the council arriving earlier than Rick going crazy. I'll still have them end up in a prison-ish facility and encounter the Governor, but obviously there will be significant twists on the plot in keeping with the Nobody Dies part of the story request (well, Otis did, but so far we still have Dale, Patricia, and Jimmy).
> 
> Judy Note: She is delivered at 36 weeks, so the tail end of being considered premature and not just "early term".
> 
> Whether or not Jesus will go on the Trail? Hmmm. The muse has not yet confessed that part of her little revolt.


	9. Sense of Purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane and Missy return to the trail, logging a few milestones. Rick makes apologies, while finally accepting his role in Judith's life.

Shane and Jesus are quiet as Jesus pulls the truck into the parking lot at the campground where the younger man was once cornered by a bear. It's been four months to the day, and after a week of nightly temperatures not dropping below zero, it's time to get back on the Trail. It might be smarter to wait until the end of March, but what goes unsaid is that the sooner started, the sooner he's back.

Missy raises her head from Jesus's lap. She knows something is up, sensing the dour mood easily. Somehow, she even seems to understand that Jesus is not going with him, because she's been cuddled to the man since they got into the truck at dawn this morning. Shane knows the feeling.

Jesus runs a hand across her head and back. "Sorry, sweetheart, this isn't a journey I can take right now. Maybe another time, we'll all three do the Trail."

Shane eases out of the truck, reaching in the back to lift his pack out. It settles onto his shoulders like the second skin it became in those fall months hiking here. By the time he reaches the driver's side, Missy's hopped to the ground, but she doesn't go far. Shrugging out of the pack, he sets it on the ground.

"We'll be okay," Shane says softly as Jesus turns in the driver's seat to face him. Cupping Jesus's face in his hands, Shane kisses him, lingering even as the need for air claims them both.

"I know." Jesus smiles wistfully. They both know there are no real guarantees, but then again, there weren't before the virus, either.

More kisses are exchanged, both reluctant to part. Neither got much sleep last night, and it hadn't all been sexual. Hell, Shane spent most of the hour between one and two this morning just curled around Jesus's smaller frame, watching him sleep. He suspects Jesus did the same when he slept a few hours prior to dawn.

"Got something for you," he says quietly. Fishing the memory card out of his pocket, Shane places it in Jesus's palm. "When you get back, look in my top drawer. There's one of those frames that display this."

It was an easy hiding place, since he needed more clothing for the winter in Hilltop than on the Trail. Everything is staying behind in the dresser they edged in next to Jesus's in the tiny bedroom. After the gift of the camera, it struck Shane that he could practice with the electronic gadget and leave a present behind thanks to it. 

He might have a copy himself, safely carried, although he'll have to settle for using the camera to look it over. There's something here between them he's not yet ready to put a name to. When he and Missy get back, they can have that conversation.

Jesus tucks the memory card away in his vest pocket and rewards him with a kiss, stealing his purple toboggan in the process. When Shane looks at him questioningly, Jesus plucks the gray one off his head and grins. "I'll want this back, alright?"

Settling it over his slightly too long curls, Shane shakes his head. "It's mine now."

"Christ. If you don't go now, I'm going to forget all the reasons I can't go." He swallows hard. "Or embarrass us both by begging you not to go, and I know you're not ready for that yet."

Shane reaches for the stolen hat and settles it in place across Jesus's hair. "I'll see you by October. Don't let Gregory run the place into the ground."

Leaving the farm in Georgia might have been the hardest thing Shane's ever done, but looking back at Jesus leaning on the truck and watching him and Missy approach an angle of the Trail that will take them out of sight? It's a strong second. Missy whines, confused.

"Sorry, Missy, he just can't come with us this time. We'd come back to everyone half naked and starving at Hilltop." She eyes him plaintively, but when he breaks out the hiking poles, she gives a huffing little sigh and darts ahead to scout the trail.

Taking it easy the first day, going a little over ten miles, Shane and Missy set up camp in the day use shelter on top of Hawksbill Mountain. While he makes the daily trek and food notes in his original trail journal, he takes out the second one and stares at the blank paper. Missy romps out, chasing a leaf, and he snaps a picture of her.

The entry intended for Jesus comes easier then, writing about the day's walk couched as Missy's journey. He thinks Jesus will enjoy that, and the words he wants? How he kept turning to say something to Jesus, and Missy kept up a search like Jesus was around the next crook of the trail. They aren't ready for paper yet. 

Their fire keeps the chill away, even as the night drops into the forties, and he sets up the tent even with the little three sided hut. Curled into the sleeping bag, he pulls the camera back out and switches out the memory card. Ten minutes into switching through images of Jesus alone or Jesus and Missy, and he looks over to Missy. "Your sidekick is a bit of an idiot you know."

Missy licks his cheek, scooting closer. He doesn't think she can see the images, and that makes him feel bad for her. "I'll tell him when we get back."

How in the world Shane could mistake what he felt for Lori as something enduring, he'll never know. All those weeks on the Trail from Georgia to Virginia, when his chest ached like this, it was usually thinking about the baby. Playing family with Lori and Carl certainly gave him a taste for the idea of having a family of his own that wasn't being the extra guy to Rick's.

But when a key piece of their lives was kept hidden, it kept any relationship entirely playacting. Over two months living with Jesus as more than his roommate changed his perspective entirely. He could turn around and go back. There would be no shame in not finishing the Trail.

But Shane comes back to that idea of how he's always left things incomplete, avoiding a permanent commitment anywhere. When Jesus explained his understanding of the need to go, it put it into words Shane struggled to manage. The depression he fell into a week ago when he realized there was no way the baby wasn't already in the world somewhere is proof that he's not entirely mentally well enough to make the promises Jesus deserves.

Putting the camera away, Shane feels Missy press close against his back. Secure that her senses will keep them safe, he finally falls asleep.

It takes them four days to log one thousand miles on the Trail. Technically, it might be more, considering the detour off the Trail to avoid hiking between a mother bear and cubs on the third day back hiking. By the sixteenth, he and Missy cross into their fifth state, crossing the Potomac into Maryland at Harper's Ferry. Like most populated areas, they actually have to put down a few walkers, so he's glad when they drift back to wilderness again. It only takes two more days to reach Pennsylvania, state number six.

It's definitely his least favorite part of the trail, erratically rocky. For the first time since he got the dog boots in Georgia, Shane actually puts them on Missy. It takes her a while to get used to them, but it definitely helps their pace. The trail guide advises the rocky parts are going to continue into their next state.

On the last day of March, twenty days after watching Jesus leaning against the old pickup while he and Missy walked away, they log a major milestone. "Seven states, Missy. Seven left to go. And we've managed almost four hundred more miles."

It's a conversation held in the middle of a bridge across the Delaware River, standing astride the faded paint marking the Pennsylvania and New Jersey state line. Missy obliges by posing for the picture. Once he's put the camera away, Shane traces the paint with a finger. Behind him is one of the traffic jams common to every interstate bridge crossing a river, but ahead? Nothing but river. The land is reclaiming things, slowly but surely.

When they make camp for the night, the note in his original trail journal is just over 1,300 miles that he and Missy have walked, only counting the Trail itself. Taking down several walkers in the nature center they're camping in, he does decide that April Fool's Day is going to be a rest day. Even the goal oriented pace they've been setting needs a zero miles day now and then, and once the roaming dead are tidied away, there's plenty to photograph that he thinks Jesus will enjoy. Although he's filling up memory cards quickly, he can easily glean more on resupply runs.

Where their prior hike was more rambling and haphazard in deciding what they did and when, this time, it feels like they've got a much stronger sense of purpose. It's no longer a nebulous goal of finishing the Trail and then what? That's been answered. Finish the hike and go back to Jesus.

~*~*~*~*~

The cabins where Judith was born don't stay viable for more than two weeks afterward. Any open area seems to attract walkers over time, either due to sounds or scent or just fucked up luck. They venture into a gated subdivision as a temporary solution. At least by then, they know that Lori will live and probably the baby, too. 

A week later facing a failing water supply and sewer system, Rick proposes a plan that seems crazy as hell, but when even Daryl agrees, they make their move. His estimation that a smaller county jail would turn most of their prisoners loose proved correct. While there is one housing unit with executed prisoners in it, there's enough record keeping to determine that it housed their violent offenders. Some jailer or deputy summarily executed fifteen prisoners, but the rest of the one hundred and twenty bed county detention center is eerily deserted.

The best part of the prisoners simply being set free is that no one made a dent in the supplies in the cafeteria for the detention center. It's only a month's supply, but a month for over one hundred means months worth of food for their small group. The jail is built on a remote county road, far enough out of town to have a good well and septic system, as well as a propane generator setup. 

"One of these days, you're going to have to hold that baby," Andrea declares, seemingly out of the blue while she and Rick are patrolling to look for supplies. Despite the wealth of food in their safe haven, they still search for more. What they have won't last forever.

With gas harder to come by, Daryl's solution was an easy one for scouting… motorcycles. The two bikes he discovered in one of the subdivision garages are more showy than his brother's Triumph. No one can bring back a lot of supplies, and they definitely have to dress for the chill of late February, but it works. Rick and Andrea pair up on one of them, and Maggie and Glenn on the other. Daryl's been taking different people out on his runs, alternating between Carol and Jimmy, something Rick should probably do, too. Patricia could use experience as well.

Rick often thinks the group is much better off after the shouting fight between him and Daryl nearly came to blows back just after Christmas. No single person makes all the decisions on where they go or stay now. Surprisingly, the nightmares and insomnia plaguing Rick since the farm eased once someone else was more in charge than him.

Adding the last of the cans from the townhouse's pantry to his backpack, Rick sighs. Andrea's got a point. They've been in the detention center nearly two weeks, making Judith six weeks old now, and he's the only one who doesn't cuddle the tiny baby like she's their personal lucky charm. Even the awkward teenage boy from Hershel's farm takes turns.

"I know." He leans against the counter as Andrea climbs on a chair to clear shelves in the tiny laundry closet. They've learned people store handy items in the oddest places over the past few months. "It's not her fault, everything that happened."

"No shit," Andrea mutters, thumping to the floor and cinching her backpack closed.

The judgmental look she levels on him makes him admit what he might not otherwise. "I don't feel I have the right. When Lori went into labor, I was so angry that it meant the baby probably wasn't mine. What kind of asshole is so stuck on himself that he would prefer a baby to be even more premature than she was?"

Andrea's expression turns almost sympathetic. "We all have our selfish asshole sides, Rick. The difference is that if you want to be better than the man you were that night, you get over it and move on. She's Carl's sister, no matter what, and you and Shane kept saying you were brothers. No way in hell I could ignore Amy's child, even if we'd walked a path like yours."

Andrea has a point, about how the family bond ought to transcend the jealousy he still harbors toward the man he called brother most of his life. Carl adores the baby on a level Rick didn't think possible. He's learned everything he can about baby care, and if he's not busy with chores, he's usually right beside whoever is holding her if it's not his turn. Judith is his family, regardless of the complicated circumstances of her conception.

The conversation sticks with him, even as they make their way home. The fence has been extended to enclose the building that once housed offices for the sheriff's department employees. Eventually, they'll put another fence around the whole thing for even better protection, but for now? It's much better than anything else they can manage.

After turning over their backpacks to Patricia, Rick and Andrea part ways. For the first time since the baby was born, Rick deliberately seeks out Lori. One of the first things they realized was heating the whole place, or even just one block, used a crazy amount of propane. It was too cold to do without, but one by one, Daryl and T-Dog installed small wood burning stoves in each occupied cell after figuring out how to cut the glass in the narrow windows.

They chose the block with four person cells to keep the jail atmosphere at bay. There's plenty of room for everyone to have their own space, although Beth shares with Carol and Sophia, while Jimmy and Carl decide to share as well. Rick finds Lori in the dayroom, sitting in a chair and reading, with Judith tucked inside her shirt making soft sounds to tell him the baby is awake.

"I owe you so many apologies." Rick falls silent, unable to find more words, when Lori looks up at him. Her face is still gaunt from the toll the pregnancy took on her, giving her a porcelain doll fragility that worries him. 

She nods her head, closing her book and running her hand along the baby's dark, wavy hair. "I imagine we both owe them. Can we consider them given?"

Part of Rick thinks he should not be let off the hook, not so easily, but he guesses Lori's own guilt makes her want to let the past go. Sitting down in the seat next to hers, he reaches out tentatively to touch the tiny hand resting against Lori's collarbone. The reaction is quick, and he finds his index finger grasped.

"She's so small," he breathes out. "It's amazing." Because it is. All the anger, jealousy, and resentment have no place here, with miniature fingers wrapped around his. "Can I hold her?"

Lori studies him for a long moment, but she finally nods and slides the baby from her button up shirt. She helps him settle the girl into his arms, although he can't easily peel away layers for skin contact. It doesn't matter yet, because there's an equally important apology he can't make, except by proxy. At first, he isn't sure how to start, but looking into sleepy slate blue eyes he knows will one day be brown, he decides to start with an introduction.

"Hi, Judy. I'm your Uncle Rick."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I tried and tried to stuff them in the gunky old prison, but the muse refused. It won't change too much of the AU, except now they aren't in some old style, run down state prison, but a more modern county one. 
> 
> Another AU departure is Michonne and Andre are still missing. We'll see her next chapter, as the muse dances even further afield at BetaDaughter's request.
> 
> Larger time jumps will continue to progress the story along.


	10. Guardian Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After reaching the end of the Appalachian Trail and climbing Katahdin, Shane and Missy decide on a faster route home than walking. Meanwhile, new arrivals at the county jail give Daryl the first news of his brother in a year.

New Jersey gives way to New York. Connecticut follows swiftly. When they trek into Massachusetts, Shane has to marvel at just how quickly they're logging states compared to the long slogs at the beginning in a single state. Crossing the Connecticut/Massachusetts border logs ten states completed and fifteen hundred miles for him and Missy.

He's been gone from Virginia for a month, and there's nearly seven hundred miles to go. Resupplying in town takes them off the trail for a day, but there are a dozen walkers to combat. The trail has had more walkers the further north he goes, but nothing overwhelming. One here, two there. 

Once they're back on the Trail, he knows Vermont and New Hampshire will pass equally as swiftly. They're such tiny states compared to the broad expanses of the southern states on the Trail. It proves true when he crosses into Maine only days past two months out of Virginia.

"We're in the last state, Missy my girl. Maine itself." Shane rubs her ears. Missy, being smarter than he is, looks southward. "Less than three hundred miles to go."

It's also considered one of the hardest sections of the Trail according to his guidebook. They're seeing moose now, something that's actually a little more worrying than bears. Damned things are more unpredictable than bears ever consider being. Needless to say, he takes pictures. He knows Jesus has never been this far north in the states.

June fifteenth, three months after leaving Hilltop, Shane and Missy reach the state park that contains their final goal: climbing Katahdin. They camp for the night, and the perk of the end of the world is that Missy is allowed in the state park, with no rangers to enforce the no pets rule. It isn't their first mountain peak, and they've even slept atop one or two that probably wouldn't have been possible in the old world. But it's a full day's hike normally, eight to twelve hours round trip, and Shane wants to enjoy it. 

The next day, he stashes the majority of their supplies to spare weight. Everything about this climb of over five thousand feet indicates the likelihood that he'll be packing Missy for part of it. There's no way in hell he's leaving her behind. It's a caution that proves legitimate when they cross a section that's as much rock climbing as trail. Missy is perfectly still for her passenger period, but she's definitely glad to be detached from the pack and back on her own four feet.

Just before noon, they reach the summit, completing a trek they began last August. After 2,189 miles, they've completed what they set out to do. The feeling is vastly different than the summit at Springer Mountain. There will probably always be an aching loss where his best friend's family should be. He knows there will be something missing from his life when he thinks of the child he'll never meet. 

But now? He has somewhere to return to, a home waiting for him. More importantly, he has someone waiting for him. Making sure there are plenty of photos, he tucks the camera away at last. 

"Ready to go home, Missy?" She's by his side before he even gets to her name on that question, tail wagging enthusiastically.

By the time they reach the park again, it's too late to really venture out. Honestly, they're in a place with good water and actual cabins, so he washes everything and hangs it to dry. He and Missy celebrate with a meal of rabbit and foraged greens and berries.

Shane's journal entry to Jesus is the longest he's written, but that sense of heading home makes the words flow easier. Laying in the bed in the cabin after he's done, he eyes Missy as the dog yawns. "You know, we don't have to walk home, do we?"

That thought settles into his mind pretty thoroughly overnight. As he packs everything back up, he considers the town near the park. Anything that runs on gasoline would probably be a bust at this point. But surely there's a diesel work truck around. Missy doesn't care about the change in direction, romping merrily around as they traverse territory going back to wilderness far more swiftly than any city will. In his lifetime, Shane suspects the park will be almost unidentifiable as affected by man.

They find a battered old eighties model Ford truck that surprisingly runs halfway to Millinocket. The distance from the state park means they stay overnight, while he studies the map he found in the truck’s glove box, grateful the owner hadn’t gone full digital like some. The next morning, while enjoying some rather expensive coffee that survived due to being unopened, Shane glances out the windows of their borrowed house and freezes. It's easy to forget, after so long hiking and an adulthood spent away from the water, but he's been overlooking the fastest way home all this time.

"Hey, Missy? How about we go see the ocean?" She can't see the small bass boat at the house’s dock, bobbing in the water, but Shane just smiles. It's harder to calculate the distance versus driving, but there's no traffic jams on the water. If they find the right boat? Fuel isn't necessary at all.

Millinocket is so desolate that there aren't even any visible walkers. Either everyone evacuated, the dead migrated, or whatever is left is trapped inside the homes he has little inclination to search. It’s a scene that repeats the further south he goes, in every small town in Maine. He almost routes to Bangor just to see how the capital city survived - or not. But after Atlanta? That’s just not information he honestly wants.

The marina in Belfast, Maine is exactly what he’s looking for, a large assortment of watercraft from small fishing craft to larger powered boats he thinks cross into yacht definition. Careful search from sailboat to sailboat finds the one he wants at last, a much smaller version than the one he learned to sail on with Rick as teenagers. But he hasn't sailed in almost fifteen years, not since college. Missy adapts to the boat's rocking motion like every other challenge he's thrown her way.

Taking two days to putter around the mouth of the Passagassawakeag River to determine the boat is seaworthy and that sailing is much like riding a bike, a skill you don't forget once learned, Shane and Missy leave the shore behind in Maine on the twenty-first of June. She perches out front, her bright orange life jacket a big change from her subdued black dog pack. Based on his calculations, he's just over five hundred nautical miles north of Washington, DC. If conditions hold, he can log fifty or sixty miles a day and be home by mid July, not September or October.

It takes thirteen days.

Docking the sailboat at the marina in Aquia Harbour puts him forty miles from Hilltop. In the top condition he and Missy are in after two weeks of much less strenuous travel, they could make it home in two days. If he found a running vehicle, it would be faster, so he at least makes the effort to look. The sailboat’s mast won’t allow them to reach a marina he can see on the other side of the bridge fording the creek they accessed, so he and Missy load up in a fishing boat and motor up the wide creek. 

The other marina turns out to be a boat club, which is lucky for them. A vehicle that belonged to a maintenance man trapped in a nearby building proves to be in running order, so he lays the man to rest and shifts their supplies into the truck. Missy hops up to ride shotgun without being told, and he wonders if she truly understands where they are now. He doesn’t go as fast as he could, taking note of places that don’t appear to be looted. Hilltop doesn’t search this far east, and it appears to be an oversight they should correct.

“That’s a damn CVS pharmacy that looks bolted up tight, Missy.” 

But the dog isn’t paying attention to the pristine store, and she begins a warning grumble that makes him look to see if his reaction is to put down a walker or two - or to speed off to safety from something too big for them to handle. They’re still way too close to the behemoth that is DC to take many chances. 

What he sees is two men running full tilt away from at least three dozen walkers. They’re in good enough shape to be gaining ground, and they’ll probably outrun the mini-herd, but no matter how much he tells himself otherwise, Shane is always going to be a cop. Throwing the truck back into gear, he circles the parking lot, bringing him directly into their path. Rolling down the window, he shouts, “Get in the back, dammit.”

The runners listen in a way they might not have in the old world, to a stranger screaming at them to get into his vehicle. Missy dances on the seat, continuing to bark in warning. The pause for them to get in the bed of the truck allows the faster of the herd to gain on them, so Shane steps on the pedal, accelerating the truck back out of the parking lot and onto the road. He can’t speed, not anything much over forty-five in an area he isn’t familiar with, but thank God, those rotting bastards can’t actually run.

Once he’s got a little distance between them and the herd, he pulls over into an abandoned gas station and slides the back glass open. The bearded man of the pair smiles gratefully, offering a hand through the opening. “I’m Aaron, and this is Eric. You two appeared like angels from heaven, I think.”

Missy noses her way into the greeting, perching her front paws on the back of the seat. Aaron pets her automatically. “That’s Missy. She’s the guardian angel out of us. I just go where she says we’re going.” It’s mostly true, too, because he probably wouldn’t have noticed the runners as soon as he did without Missy’s alert senses. Like Jesus calls her - Missy is the superhero.

“And you?” Aaron’s voice is calm and diplomatic, but he didn’t miss the lack of Shane’s own introduction. 

“Most call me Beowulf, nowadays.” Young Amanda’s nickname feels more like his own than the one he was born with, after so long without anyone even knowing Shane Walsh still exists. “Y’all got a place to be getting back to?”

Aaron absorbs the lack of true name without complaint. “We might. Our RV’s on the other side of the herd, sadly. We could probably wait them out and circle back, unless you happen to be heading north somehow.”

Shane considers it for a moment. “West toward Shenandoah.” It’s mostly the truth, without giving away Hilltop’s actual location. “But we’re not in a hurry.” That part’s not entirely true, but a few hours to circle around to drop the two men off at their vehicle won’t kill him. He’s already months ahead of schedule to get home.

“If you don’t mind.” Aaron’s voice is hesitant now. It was a small favor, once, to ask someone to drive a few miles out of their way. Now? It’s significant help, but Shane's going to provide it because he would hope the same would be offered to Jesus if he were out and stranded like this.

“Just tell me where to drop you off.”

They’ll still be home by dark, and he can sleep with his arms around Jesus tonight, which is the perfect ending to the journey.

~*~*~*~

Carol is hanging laundry out in what was once an exercise yard, but is now a combination of raised garden beds and laundry lines. What generator power they manage is reserved for necessities, not luxuries like clothes dryers. It’s something she enjoys, oddly enough, a task with an easy beginning and end. It’s still early, barely even eight o’clock, and already hot because it’s July in Georgia. Carl, Beth, Sophia, Lori, and the baby move among the vegetable beds, gleaning what produce is ready to harvest, and it’s Sophia who spots the stranger approaching on foot.

“Mama! I see a lady with a baby coming this way. She’s limping pretty badly.”

Although they haven’t had any trouble here, everyone goes on alert. Sophia takes Judith from Lori, scurrying inside like they’ve practiced. She’ll tell the others inside, most of whom are getting ready for a run. The remaining four use the garden greenery and the already hung clothing to provide cover to watch.

The woman is tall, with long dreads and gleaming dark skin, dressed in an oversized shirt and baggy cargo pants. Carol thinks the ‘baby’ in the carrier on her back is an older toddler. She stops, studying the fencing and seems to adjust the straps, one hand going to comfort the child by patting his leg. A long sword of some sort is clutched in one hand, dripping with the dark, bloody gore specific to walkers. When Carol exchanges a glance with Lori, she can see sympathy written all over the other woman’s face, and Lori nods, drawing her gun. She’ll cover Carol as she steps forward.

“Are you in need of help?” she calls out, even as she clears one of the still damp bedsheets to reach the chain link at the edge of the exercise yard.

The stranger’s eyes close briefly, and Carol thinks she might be praying. “Is there a Daryl Dixon here?” she asks, startling Carol. A stranger is one thing, but this is someone who seems to know Daryl. The hunter might not seem to have his brother’s racist proclivities, but it seems surreal for someone like this woman to be looking for Daryl.

“He might be. Does he know you’re looking for him?” 

It gains her a headshake. “He doesn’t know me. I was sent here. Told it would be safe for me and my boy, anywhere Daryl was. I’m Michonne, and this is Andre.”

Movement behind Carol tells her that someone’s come outside, and she sees Lori relax out of the corner of her eye even before Daryl steps to the reinforced gate they put into the exercise yard for safe exit in an emergency. “Who would have sent you to me?” he drawls, sounding puzzled and tense even as he studies the pair outside the fence. “You bit?”

Michonne tugs on the leg of her cargo pants and exposes a poorly stitched gash in her leg. “Fell into a damned piece of rebar fighting the dead on my way here.” She lets the pants drop back into place and extends her left arm, where a strangely familiar ornate leather cuff is fastened.

From the intake of breath, Daryl knows what it is. “Is my brother alive?” The grief in his voice makes Carol’s breath catch.

“Was three days ago. He told me to take Andre and run and don’t stop til I got here. Don’t stop for anything. Been walking ever since.” Michonne muffles a sob, obviously exhausted and at the end of her rope. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

Daryl’s got the gate open before anyone else can object, and it’s a good thing he does, because the woman collapses as he reaches her. The toddler starts wailing, and Carol rushes to help, gathering the boy into her arms after she releases the fastenings on the carrier. Daryl lifts the unconscious woman into his arms. The oversized shirt pulls tight, and they exchange an alarmed look as they realize their new arrival is pregnant, and far enough along for it to be unmistakable.

A full year after his brother disappeared from that Atlanta roof, they finally have a clue as to what happened to him after. Carol comforts the baby and prays the answers they get aren’t ones that lead Daryl to his brother’s body. After all this time, that would be the cruelest thing the world could throw at her best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things purposely vague on purpose, as always. 😉 Some of the scenery I skipped over will be detailed in future chapters, either in the pictures and journal entries for Jesus, or much later, telling the Georgia folks about Shane and Missy's grand adventure where they almost ended up in Canada. 🍁
> 
> Next chapter will feature Jesus's POV, not Shane's, for the Virginia section, and the answer to "what happened to Merle?"
> 
> My beta reader is wanting a Missy POV chapter, and I have something coming up past the Jesus POV chapter which really would be interesting to at least partially write from a doggie POV. That gonna send anyone screaming for the hills?


	11. A Family Reunited, Part 1 of 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul spends much time away from his lonely home in Hilltop, marking time until his family returns.

Before Shane left to head north on the Trail, Paul spent time going through the books and brochures Shane used to guide himself to Virginia and to plan the rest of the trip. There was a part of him that really wanted to go, but the very real idea that Gregory would somehow collapse the sometimes-precarious situation of Hilltop kept him from it. The level of trust in the goodness of the world that it took to watch Shane and Missy walk away that day in March was something he’s never known.

Once they were gone, he collected his own documentation for the Trail. As dangerous and impossible as a northern Trail hike would be to start in the fall, he knows he would end up needing to make the attempt if Shane doesn’t return. The odds he would find them are slim, but his life before the outbreak didn’t give him family. He wouldn’t be able to go on without knowing. So, he tucked away all those plans, with a pack similar to Shane’s, in the back of the tiny closet in his trailer. On his homemade calendar, he marks the time, day by day, month turning to month. 

It takes three days for the scent of Shane to fade from their shared bedding. He can’t decide if that’s a good thing, with all the other small memories left around the place. Nothing about the place is solely Paul’s anymore. There are more dishes in the cupboards, more linens in the bathroom, and books on the shelf in the living room that aren’t by authors Paul normally reads. It still surprises him how much Shane likes to read, although after an adulthood spent in a job that left him little free time, Paul supposes he understands finally having the freedom to find what he likes.

Even more obvious than those things is the empty dog bed in the corner of the bedroom. He can’t resist bringing home more toys as he finds ones he knows Missy will enjoy. The little dog will never run out of plushies to love to pieces, not with the zoo that is now piled in that cozy little bed. Collecting canned dog food is another hobby he’s picked up. She’ll be back, and there’s boxes of the stuff in the tiny room that claims to be a second bedroom, enough to turn her into a tiny canine gourmet.

In addition to the two allies they had when Shane leaves Virginia, one Shane’s discovery and one Paul’s, he’s found another for Hilltop. This one’s an even bigger score, because they’re on Chesapeake Bay. Their walled off peninsula town doesn’t allow for growing many agricultural crops, but they do have a lot of fish and seafood they’re willing to trade to their allies who do have space for larger gardens. It’s a wealth of protein no one can afford to turn down. Gregory’s a preening peacock, content that somehow Hilltop seems to be the cog of the little trade alliance, as if he had anything to do with it other than bragging rights at Hilltop.

June rolls around, and by Paul’s calculations, Shane and Missy should be in Maine. The not knowing really crawls under his skin, so he makes more and more scouting trips, making sure to visit their allies. Although Shane made him promise not to reveal his location to Shirewilt, Paul put two and two together about why once he met baby Jackson. It’s easy enough to keep his promise and still look after people he suspects are important to Shane in a way he doesn’t want to admit to. He feels guilty sometimes, but not enough to alert them that their Beowulf is alive and well – or was, as of last March.

The college students who patrol like inexpert cops show every sign of an ongoing hero worship of his partner that Paul encourages. Layering in some basic military training, he feels like it’s the least he can do for the kids, many of whom aren’t even out of their teens yet. Paul can’t really remember being that young, although he marks his thirty-first birthday while Shane’s gone.

“You sure you aren’t hiding a wife and kids somewhere?” Amanda asks, that irrepressible grin of hers plastered on her face as she claims the seat on the bench next to him.

Paul shrugs, bouncing Jackson a little. Even the baby’s name is another clue to his partner’s past: Jackson Walsh, the grandfather who died overseas before Shane was born. Shane never mentioned his name directly, but the fact that his paternal grandfather is buried at Arlington did come up during the winter spent first as roommates, then as lovers. So’s his father, but Shane avoids that topic with the same fervor that Paul avoids discussing his last group home.

“He’s a good baby. Always has been, once he scared us all so silly the night he was born. His daddy says it was his Halloween prank.” Jackson’s mother, Nancy, smiles fondly at her nearly eight-month-old son currently napping on Paul’s shoulder. On his first visit here, she told Paul the story of the miracle worked by the Georgia deputy who delivered her still, unbreathing baby and brought him back with CPR.

“Hopefully he doesn’t make it a tradition to prank his mama,” Paul remarks, running his hand along the baby’s small back. Jackson’s dramatic entry into the world didn’t influence him much. Most of Paul’s youth was group homes surrounded by boys of similar age, but before that were a few foster homes that had babies. Those experiences taught him that Jackson is definitely at the top of the growth curves for height and weight.

“When his nap’s done, will you do a wall patrol with us?” Lenny’s joined Amanda. Paul’s about ninety percent certain the two are a couple, although they aren’t open about it. “We made some improvements since last time, based on those DVDs you brought us.”

The first time Paul visited, the pair gave him the tour, showing him the rudimentary wall that served primarily to keep walkers from simply appearing in the residential areas. The population at Shirewilt is small, under thirty, but over the last six months, the residents have slowly added to the walls, forming a hodgepodge wall of cargo containers, inexpertly welded metal panels from construction sites, and in one notable place, two Greyhound buses with their wheels removed to drop them to the ground.

“You can put the baby in the playpen. Once Jackson is asleep, very little wakes him,” Nancy suggests. 

Paul decides to take the hint and lays Jackson into the playpen, which is inside one of those netted tents meant for putting over the picnic table while camping. It shades the baby and keeps any creepy crawlies away as well.

The patrol starts off quiet, just a stroll around the barrier placed around what was once a typical suburban development of thirty or so houses. They have gardens here, but they’re outside the heavier barrier, protected only by livestock fencing and barbed wire. Reaching the first of the welded panels, Paul grins. The inexpert welds that would have probably broken with the first good windstorm or a large group of walkers are now repaired.

“Those DVDs were awesome,” Lenny says. “We practiced on some smaller stuff, but then we tackled this. Even tested the welds from the outside like you suggested, by trying to use a truck as a bulldozer of sorts. They held.” The former frat boy’s grin is wide and proud. Not one of the college kids had any hands-on experience with anything construction, but they’ve been learning.

“Figured anything a high school shop teacher had should work out well.” He hadn’t needed anything like that for Hilltop, since they’d gotten lucky to land a man who was an honest-to-God blacksmith in the initial group FEMA rounded up. Earl Sutton’s throwback career makes him probably more valuable to Hilltop in the end than Paul or Gregory, either one.

Further along, most of the glass on the exterior side of the two buses has been covered with welded panels. “Left some peepholes,” Amanda explains as she indicates the three cloth covered windows. “It’s too high for walkers, anyway.”

Shirewilt hasn’t had any trouble with human survivors, but something about only protecting from walkers sits wrong with Paul. Hilltop’s stockade walls serve to keep out both, as do the walls everywhere else he’s visited. Slowly but surely, Shirewilt is becoming just as secure. “The offer still stands, you know,” he mentions. “For everyone to come to Hilltop.”

Gregory would have a stroke at nearly thirty people coming into the community at once, but he also can’t turn them away without looking bad. They’re allied with Shirewilt, but the smaller community isn’t all that important to Gregory, not like the Kingdom or the Bay community.

“As long as we’re holding ground here, everyone wants to stay home,” Amanda replies, shrugging. Most of the residents are in their actual homes from before the outbreak, and that’s a powerful lure in staying. Even if Paul told them where Shane makes his home now, it probably wouldn’t make any difference.

“Speaking of home, how long are you staying?” Lenny asks as they set back on the patrol.

Paul considers the question. There’s little for him at home right now other than an empty trailer that holds too many reminders of Shane for him to sleep easily. Shirewilt is the only ally that needs his actual help beyond a visit to check in. “Did you finish the obstacle course I suggested last time?”

“Yeah. I know it’s not military grade, but it’s tough enough to slow down me and Matt, and we both played football at Tech.”

Amanda nods. “Most of us can’t complete it yet, but they can. We’ll get there. And we found a good shooting range that’s still intact and has a ton of twenty-two ammo for target shooting. Rifle and handgun targets.”

“Alright. I told Hilltop not to expect me back until the end of June, so I’ll stay.” That’s ten days here, allowing for a few to hike home beyond that. Shane’s fond of these college kids. The least Paul can do is keep training them.

He stays nine days instead of ten, getting restless for a reason he can’t quite name. Heading north on foot from Shirewilt gives him a few days to settle his mind again. He never pushes his solo journeys, because there’s little need. Hilltop rarely bothers with whether he’s in residence or not, as long as he keeps checking in regularly enough to keep their supply lines open. Honestly, most days, Paul isn’t sure Gregory would send anyone looking if he went long enough overdue. Some of the others would, and those are the people he stays for.

It’s so close to dark that he’s just tired and wants a shower and his own bed. The gate guards seem unusually cheerful, with Kal taking the latest mapping of supplies with a cheeky grin. Paul nearly asks if they’ve figured out an improvement on the last round of moonshine, but he’s not sure he wants to know. Instead, he bids the two men goodnight and heads for his trailer.

Tossing his pack on the couch, he heads for the bathroom, shedding clothes quickly and starting up the weak hot water. When he pulls back the shower curtain after scrubbing himself clean, he sees the best surprise ever: Missy is stretched out in front of the sink, waiting patiently for him. Dripping wet, Paul fumbles for a towel to dry his hands so he can gently pet the faithful little dog’s head. 

“I’m guessing you didn’t come back home alone, or those goofballs at the gate would have alerted me,” he tells her. She licks his face, an enthusiastic greeting that is much welcomed. 

“I’m just surprised they didn’t spill the beans.” Shane’s Georgia drawl is the best damn thing Paul’s heard in months. 

When he looks up, the tall former deputy is leaning against the doorframe, dressed in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. He’s been home long enough to wash up, or he stopped somewhere along the way so that he didn’t show up with however many days or weeks of trail funk clinging to him and Missy. Paul scans his form, finding no new scars or signs of injury, just the slightly underweight look Shane carried when he first arrived at Hilltop. Missy is equally in good health, not as thin, but the dog doesn’t drop weight hiking the way her owner does.

Paul doesn’t care that he’s wet. He seriously doubts that Shane cares, either. There will be time to find out why they’re home so blessedly early later, but for now, he needs Shane in his arms. One kiss isn’t enough, and surprisingly, neither of them seem in a hurry to do more than kiss. Stretched out along the bed, he pulls back from the last of an endless repetition of kisses to smile down at Shane.

“If you leave Hilltop again, I don’t have it in me to be altruistic again,” Paul tells him huskily. “You’ve spoiled me to having a family.” Putting it boldly that way is a risk, because it’s a commitment neither of them have discussed in any format. But he can’t keep the feeling to himself.

His luck holds, because Shane’s smile is unmistakable even with the unruly beard he hasn’t trimmed back yet. Dark eyes are bright as they meet Paul’s. “Missy and I had many a conversation about missing a significant part of our family.”

There’s more heat and intent behind the next kiss, with Paul ducking his head to rest his forehead against Shane’s chest when it ends. “You’re home to stay?” He hates that it comes out as a question.

The hand against his damp hair is gentle enough that Paul looks up. As soon as he does, Shane smiles again. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

Paul grew up in group homes, and even in adulthood, none of his relationships held any sort of permanence. His own spirit was too unsettled to stay put for long, but it isn’t the danger outside the walls that keeps him rooted at Hilltop, not anymore. He can’t imagine ever requesting Shane leave him or wanting to leave him behind. Rising to his knees, he reaches into the drawer on the end table, but what he retrieves makes Shane’s eyes widen.

Emptying the small velvet jeweler’s pouch onto his palm, Paul holds out the matched pair of rings, struggling for what exactly to say. It’s unusual for him to be at a loss for words, but Shane doesn’t seem to mind. 

Shane takes the rings from Paul’s palm, studying them both. “This wouldn’t have been legal in most places,” he says softly, warming the silvery metal. “But no one can tell us no now, can they?”

Realizing Shane’s edging toward acceptance, Paul smiles, taking one of the rings. “They can’t.”

“I’m guessing this means you aren’t putting a time limit on keeping me,” Shane comments, raising up so that he’s sitting, too. “That’s good, because…” His dark eyes are intense as he leans in as if he’s going to kiss Paul but stops just short. “I love you, Paul.”

Kissing him instead of replying is probably not the perfect response, but Paul can’t speak, and the temptation is just too strong, especially hearing his given name from his lover’s lips for the first time. Shane doesn’t seem to mind, smiling through the entire kiss. Paul finally manages the words he’s been rehearsing in his mind for months. “I love you, too, Shane.”

Shane grins at the use of his illicitly gained information before snagging his hand, but then hesitates. “Right or left?”

Impressed, Paul thinks about it for a minute. He hadn’t expected Shane to know the significance, of why many gay couples wore rings on the right hand instead of the left. “We aren’t keeping this private.” They haven’t thus far, although he suspects most of Hilltop cares little about the fact that they’re not just roommates. He’s sure there’s a religious nut or two among the people, but they’ll be the minority here. Nowadays, it’s more about benefiting the community, not who you sleep with.

“No, we aren’t. I don’t want to ever live like that again.” Shane’s voice doesn’t hold that haunted quality it had back at Christmas when he told Paul about his unborn child and the family he left behind. But being someone’s dirty secret is not anything Shane wants to be again.

Paul slides the ring onto Shane’s left ring finger, admiring the black etched clockwork details embedded in the silver metal. “You won’t. We can even stand up in front of all of Hilltop, if you want. I suppose Gregory would be our officiant here.”

The slight grimace on Shane’s face tells his opinion of that. “I don’t have to have that. Just this.” His touch is gentle as he eases the ring onto Paul’s own left ring finger. “People know what these mean, and that’s enough.”

“And here I was imagining Missy as our flower girl.” The dog is nestled into her bed in the corner, snoring slightly. Her world is slotted back together properly, so she’s content that they can look after themselves for a while, it seems.

“That would almost be worth the spectacle. Now come here. I’ve always wondered what the hype is about wedding nights.” The invitation in Shane’s voice is as welcome as that first unexpected Christmas kiss was.

Paul’s drawn down against the man he just declared his husband, grinning all the way. Reunion turned wedding night works for him on their refamiliarizing themselves with each other. They fit together as easily as they did before Shane left to finish his pilgrimage, remembering what each likes best with little effort at all. 

Afterward, sleep comes easily for the first time since the spring, and Paul is once again grateful that his height falls on the shorter side of average. His frame tucks into Shane’s in a way that feels like they’ve been doing this for years, and he’s sappy enough to see that as a sign. By morning, they’ll have shifted, so that Paul isn’t using Shane as a pillow, heartbeat under his ear. But it’s no less close, because Shane’s tall form will be spooned against Paul’s, stance as protective in sleep as it is awake.

Once, Paul would have objected to that sort of protective nature. He can take care of himself, in some ways maybe even more so than Shane, because military training goes beyond the limits law enforcement still imposes on its members. It doesn’t matter, because Paul’s never had a family to lose, but Shane? He’s lost everything. If it means that in sleep, Shane craves ‘protecting’ him, so be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merle's story will be in Part 2... Which will post in a day or two. Both stories needed too much space to share. 😉


	12. A Family Reunited, Part 2 of 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl's people are in for a few of surprises when Merle makes it back to his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Daryl POV, Merle focused, as promised. If you didn't see the prior chapter in Paul/Jesus's POV, you may have missed yesterday's part one of the "guest POV" chapters. :)

It had been too close to dark last night for them to begin a search based on the information Michonne gave them once she revived from her faint under the care of Hershel and Carol. Dehydration had been the problem, since she’d been afraid to start a fire and knew better than to drink straight from any stream once they ran out of water in her small pack. The wait nearly drove Daryl crazy, and he suspects if she could have risked it, Carol would have sedated him just to save everyone from his pacing. He didn’t sleep a wink.

Michonne is remarkably closemouthed about anything other than directions, cuddling her toddler close and keeping her clothing arranged to hide the growing swell of her belly. If she hadn’t been so athletically slender, it might not even be obvious. What is clear is that she’s used to keeping it obscured.

They don’t take the motorcycles out when dawn starts to lighten the sky. If Merle’s in the same shape as the woman he sent to Daryl, they may need more space. Selecting who would go out searching was tricky. It can’t be Rick, even though the former deputy offers. There’s no way they can risk that meeting taking place somewhere remote. T-Dog is equally out of the question. In the end, they pair off. Hershel and Andrea, Glenn and Maggie, Daryl and Patricia, medical and guardian, each group with someone Merle will recognize.

After months of wondering about his brother’s fate, and halfheartedly keeping an eye out for any sign of Merle when he collects supplies or hunts, Daryl can’t believe his eyes when he sees the man staggering down the country road. His luck doesn’t usually lend to him being the one to find the man he’s been missing for nearly a year. Throwing the cranky old diesel crew cab truck into park, he knows the moment Merle recognizes him, because his brother lowers the gun he’d leveled the second he stepped off the road and behind a good sized tree.

“Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes, baby brother,” Merle drawls, holstering the gun. The speed and ease he’d handled the gun with despite not being left-handed tells Daryl his brother’s spent months practicing to make up for the loss of his right hand. That hand is covered with a makeshift prosthetic, complete with a bayonet style blade attached. His exhaustion is evident in how he allows Daryl to support him back to the truck, easing him into the back seat after he takes the older man’s backpack off his shoulders. “Chonne and her boy make it to you?”

“Yeah, last night. Got Carol looking after her back home.” Daryl’s curious, but Merle’s been bleeding from somewhere, based on the stain on his shirt. He can feel the padding of a dressed wound on his brother’s abdomen.

“Where are you wounded?” Patricia asks, causing Merle to stiffen from his slumped position. She gives him a reassuring smile. “I’m Patricia, and I was a veterinarian assistant before.”

“It’s fine. Lady doc back at Woodbury patched me up nicely, but it didn’t care much for me going on a two-day jaunt through the scenic Georgia countryside.” Merle laughs softly, relaxing in the backseat as he eases his grubby shirt up and shows the fresh bandaging. “Redressed it this morning.”

“Hershel can take a look when we get home,” Daryl declares. “He’s our doc.” Being out in the open without all the information about why his brother is wounded and why a woman and toddler fled through walker-infested Georgia woods makes his skin crawl. Hopefully the old man is in radio range.

Patricia’s ahead of him on that thought, because she’s queuing the mike even as Daryl turns the truck around. Glad acknowledgements come back to them quickly, and with any luck, Hershel will make it back faster than they do. Patricia turns in her seat, gently inquiring about Merle’s wound.

“Through and through. Bastard running Woodbury got the drop on me when I was distracted by finding out he was keeping his walker daughter trussed up in his quarters and feeding her bits and bobs of raw meat like some sort of pet tiger.”

“He likely to be following you?” Daryl asks, alarmed. If Merle knows where the jail is, maybe this sick son of a bitch does, too.

“Nope. Man’s dead as a doornail, and no hope of rising to go cannibal on the world.”

When Daryl meets his brother’s eyes in the rearview mirror, he knows Merle’s the reason the man’s dead and won’t rise. “No one else?”

“The beauty of being the man’s primary enforcer is that most just wanted me gone once I took care of their little problem, especially after they found his setup for that little girl. Besides, never told any of them I found your little hidey hole.”

“Why didn’t you let me know you found me?” The real question is how long Merle’s known where Daryl is and not contacted him. Normally, he wouldn’t ask a question that has such potential for an asshole answer in front of someone, but he has to know, and he knows Patricia’s kindness well enough by now to be sure she won’t use anything against him.

“Wasn’t time yet. Had to lay plans to get Chonne and Andre out of Woodbury. Bastard was obsessed with her. Only took no for an answer because he needed me more than he wanted her.”

“And that was changing?” A suspicion is forming in Daryl’s mind as they get closer to the jail. It’s one that he wouldn’t have considered a year ago, but something about the nickname his brother uses for the woman and the inflection he gives it reminds Daryl of how Glenn says Maggie’s name.

Merle confirms it when he answers. “It was one thing when she was just my wife. Man wasn’t going to stand for her giving me a daughter. Second our doc confirmed that baby was a girl to him, my time on this here earth was limited.” There’s a haggardness to Merle’s features Daryl’s never really seen before. “And he told me before he died that he didn’t need Andre to control her with a sweet girl he would raise as his own.”

The idea of Merle married is foreign, but the idea that his racist brother is willing to die to protect a woman so unmistakably African American in race? The boy, that’s possible, because Merle’s always had a hang-up about children. Marrying Michonne, though? That would be an impossibility in their old life. 

But when Merle holstered that gun earlier, Daryl hadn’t missed the glint of gold on his brother’s left hand. He can’t even find the words to respond, and Merle lets him fall silent for once. There’s no more piss and vinegar filling the older Dixon’s spirit, just a tense anticipation Daryl understands well enough anytime he’s away from his adopted family for long.

The reunion at the jail baffles the others, too, at least those from the quarry. Their astonished expressions as Michonne and Andre welcome Merle, ignoring the filth from his travels as they cling to him. Daryl is impressed at how Merle detached the blade from his prosthetic, leaving it in the truck, and that he’s supporting the toddler easily across the remainder of his right arm.

“I was starting to worry you didn’t make it,” Michonne says softly. Merle’s good arm is around her, even as she pats along his shirt. “Oh Jesus. You’re wounded.”

“Women keep making that comment to me lately. It’ll be fine, darlin’. Doc Stevens patched me up before I left, and they can take another look here. Help me change the dressing and all.” Merle’s smiling, and something the trio is sending most of Daryl’s group goofy. It’s probably the reunion for most, although Rick and T-Dog look like they won the lottery with seeing Merle alive.

All their concern about Merle laying eyes on Rick or T-Dog again is unmerited in the end, because Merle doesn’t even seem to notice the men in the communal area. Michonne glances around. “You need to get all that grime off you. Not safe when you’re carrying a wound.”

That’s a cue for Carol to step up. She gets a side glance from Merle, but the changes he sees seem to meet with his approval. “If you can all follow me, you remember where the communal showers are, right?” Leading the trio away, she leaves behind a mix of bemused smiles from the farm folk and confused looks from the quarry folks. 

“Are they married?” Andrea asks incredulously. “Does she have any idea who he is?” The blonde can’t seem to draw her eyes back from where she watched them disappear with Carol. There’s another shower room in a different wing of the jail, but only the closest one has everything hooked up and running. They just take care on men versus women using it at different times.

“That’s what he told me and Patricia.” Daryl relays what little information Merle shared on the way here, wishing he asked more questions now. Hell, Carol will probably return with a full accounting of the past year and Michonne’s life story without batting an eye.

“I take it that your brother’s marital status is a new thing?” Hershel arrived almost as soon as they did, but he’s obviously waiting for Merle to request his services.

“He was never the marrying kind.” Daryl’s honestly concerned for the woman and boy. His brother’s disdain for the idea of marriage and fatherhood was legend among the criminal element he ran with. Daryl remembers Merle even considering what it would cost for a vasectomy.

Hershel chuckles softly. “I suspect I walked a similar road to your brother in many ways in my youth. What you need to remember now is that all it takes is the right moment and the right person, and it doesn’t matter what you swore your life would be before that.” The vet’s expression is bittersweet. “I wasn’t exactly young when I met Maggie’s mother, and it took me a while to completely straighten myself out.”

“You think Merle’s capable of that, too? Doubt you were a criminal like my brother, Hershel.”

“I think anyone is capable of change, given the right incentive.” Hershel pats Daryl’s shoulder, that reassuring contact he uses with everyone. His calm blue gaze holds a level of conviction Daryl’s never felt in his life. “Hear him out before you pass judgment. Have some faith that nearly dying opened your brother’s mind to the futility of living his life as he used to do.”

Daryl wants it to be true more than anything he’s ever wanted in his life. Everyone else has been listening to Hershel, too, even the wariest, like Andrea. Their newest residents don’t stop the other chores from needing to be done, so at Hershel’s urging, that gets underway. The kids have heard enough with what little he’s told the group. They probably don’t need to be here for anything more.

It doesn’t include Daryl, because his job today was going to be a supply run. No one feels comfortable leaving the jail just yet, not until they know more. Carol reappears with the toddler on her hip. He’s chattering away about something, seeming delighted with her attention.

“Well, Andre, I’m glad tomatoes are your favorite food,” Carol says as she comes into earshot. “Because we’ve got a lot of tomato plants in our garden. When your mommy is feeling better, we’ll go outside and pick some.”

The boy grins, bouncing and happy, as Carol brings him to Daryl. “This is Daryl. He’s the one Merle told you and your mommy all about.”

Although he’d been as quiet as his mother, exhausted and scared from the trek they’d endured, Andre shows little of that now. “Merle’s brother.”

“Yep. Such a smart boy. That makes him your uncle, you know that?” 

That gets Andre's full attention, big brown eyes focused intently on him. “Uncle Dare. I’m three.” When Daryl offers the boy a hesitant smile, the toddler reaches for him, nearly overbalancing from Carol’s arms. He takes the boy, who pats his chest. Even with tiny Judith as a comparison, Andre seems so small. “I’m thirsty.”

Hint delivered, Daryl laughs and goes to sort out a drink for the boy, who seems perfectly fine with the cup of water he’s offered. It makes a mess, because three is not quite coordinated for an open cup, but he fixes that issue with a towel Carol offers. She doesn’t step in, just watches with that half amused smile of hers.

“Well, seems Andre’s in good hands.” Merle’s voice carries across the communal area, and he sounds happy. Michonne is at his side, supporting him as he crosses to a couch and drops down with a grunt. There’s a clean bandage on his flank again, less bulky than what he showed Daryl in the truck, and his stump is bare, skin raw and blistered in places.

“Mer!” Andre escapes Daryl with ease, small feet pounding as he runs across the room. Michonne catches him before he can pounce on the wounded man, dangling him with a quiet caution about an owie before easing the boy into Merle’s lap. The toddler inspects the bandage with extreme care, before tucking himself under Merle’s right arm, keeping himself opposite the wounded side.

“You gonna just stare or come ask your questions, baby brother?” Merle sounds tired, and considering what little Daryl knows of the last few days, he understands. Michonne seems torn between sitting beside him and standing guard. Based on that katana she carries, she’s capable of both.

Daryl isn’t the only one who ventures closer when invited. In the end, it doesn’t take long for all the adults to gather, with Beth herding the kids outside. He applauds the teenager’s caution in thinking some of this tale might not be best served for youthful ears.

Merle reaches out his hand to Michonne, who finally decides to sit next to him. The cool expression she surveys them all with turns a little more intent when she studies Rick and T-Dog when full introductions are finally made. She knows, then, who was part of Merle being left on the roof.

“Michonne found me stumbling around Atlanta and saved my sorry ass,” Merle begins. “For some reason I’ll never fathom, she saw something in me worth saving, so she did. I was still in bad shape when a man calling himself the Governor found us.”

It’s Michonne that picks up the tale. “Something about the man made me wary. He was considering leaving Merle behind as a waste of resources, so I told him we were married. I wasn’t sure why it worked, not then, but he took us to a town in the western part of the state, down near Columbus. Had a doctor and a little hospital. Electricity. Running water. Walls.”

“It was like goddamn Mayberry, for most of the folks there. Once the man figured out what I was before everything went to hell, he decided he had a use for me.” Merle sighs deeply. “Took me about three months to work up to that, physical therapy and all.”

Michonne’s hand slides along Merle’s, thumb rubbing that gold band that still puzzles the hell out of Daryl. Being told it was a front for a leader they didn’t trust makes sense, especially since it didn’t start out as Merle’s idea. He can definitely see Merle playing along with something that went against his basic principles of mixing races when it was essential to survival.

“So you two aren’t actually married.” Andrea’s eyeing the linked hands as if they’re a puzzle she can’t figure out. She’s not the only one, but she’s the only one willing to speak.

“Did we step in front of some preacher or judge and say a bunch of useless vows? No.” Michonne is educated, much like Andrea, Daryl thinks. Her voice has that cultured tone that he’s used to hearing from employers, not the working class. “Those were about as binding as dandelion fluff. In this world, we say we’re married, so we are.”

Surprisingly, it’s Merle who aims for peacemaker. “They’re just surprised, darlin’. Was a racist asshole, last they saw. I told you how I ended up cuffed on that roof.”

Michonne turns her gaze on T-Dog, assessing the man. “You dropped the key.”

“Yes, ma’am, I did. Chained the door after, but he was gone when we got back.” The guilt over that has never faded with T-Dog, Daryl knows, especially after Daryl saved his life on that highway. It’s how they were able to become friends. A man with a guilty conscience over Merle, after what Merle did to him? That’s a good man by Daryl’s standards.

“Hopefully you’ve learned to be less careless of other lives now.” She seems about to say more, but Merle shakes his head.

“Leave the man be, Chonne. Wasn’t his intent to leave me, and definitely wasn’t his fault I maimed myself.” The look between T-Dog and Merle is intense at first, but something shifts between them as T-Dog’s shoulders relax. It’s the ease of a burden the man’s carried for nearly a year. “And if you’re worried about who I was then versus this? She taught me I had been a mistaken bastard my entire life.”

T-Dog eyes Andre, curled up and asleep against Merle’s side and nods in understanding. “Love can change some pretty powerful prejudices, can’t it?”

“Hell yeah.” There’s no doubting the love Merle has for the little boy, because the look on his face when he looks down at Andre is the same as Daryl knows he wears anytime he’s working with Sophia or even Lil Asskicker.

“The Governor didn’t care for the marriage?” Hershel asks, seeming to be thinking something over. “Was it because of the mixed race, or was he interested in Michonne before the issue of the baby girl?”

“I figured out he was fascinated with Chonne before I even got out of their little hospital. She was a mama who managed to survive months on her own without her or her kid getting bit, and that was a hell of a turn on for him, somehow. Made sense later, when I found the girl. His wife’s the one who bit her.” Merle sighs, and most of his listeners shudder. Trauma like that could unseat the strongest psyche.

Merle’s smile is grim as he continues. “Figured it would fade in time, unless he pulled a David and Bathsheba on me. Thought for a while that’s what his intent was, because he sure as hell saddled me with the dumbest assholes this side of the Mississippi for clearing out walkers and doing supply runs at first. Then it changed, after he brought in a group that had most certainly been part of a prison group.”

“He wanted you to keep control of them,” Rick says, looking thoughtful. “Like a trustee.”

“Hit the nail right on the head, Officer Friendly. Since I had a wife and kid, in his eyes, he had leverage to keep me in line and make me keep them in line. Had to put two of the assholes down in the first month. Wasn’t no taming either of them, especially the pervert. But the other three weren’t half bad. Made for a nice little squad, and they sure weren’t questioning some of my searches after Tomas and Andrew.”

“You should have brought them with you,” Michonne says. “They could be useful here, too, and their loyalty was to you, not him.”

It sounds like a harsh assessment, but not knowing the men in question, Daryl’s not going to raise a fuss. He’s used to people’s value being assessed by usefulness, even if it lands disgruntled expressions on several listeners’ faces. More muscle would definitely be welcome, to be honest, especially men tough enough to survive both prison and whatever version of training Merle put them through.

“Wasn’t bringing convicts without asking first. And honestly, bringing them here might screw with their mental health a bit.” Merle’s glance around to the cells that ring the communal area makes that idea pretty clear. “Arranged to meet up in a week up by the interstate, to let them know if they’ll be welcome. Martinez says he’s got no problem with them staying.”

“Who is Martinez?” Daryl asks. There’s been no names mentioned other than this ‘Governor’.

“My counterpart. When the Governor wanted a softer touch, he used Martinez. When he needed brawn, well…” Merle just shrugs. It’s been his role all his adult life and most of his teens. The older Dixon brother is well used to it. “He’s the leader at Woodbury now, more or less. Seemed pretty damn glad I’d done his dirty work.”

Michonne scoffs. “Man’s going to have to do it himself from now on.”

“Considering he’s got to clean up and explain what we found in the Governor’s little human experimentation projects, he’ll get plenty of experience.” Merle turns from his wife to the rest of the group. “He was looking to cure his daughter. Some of the folks we brought in that were in poor health supposedly were beyond our doctor’s help. They ended up part of his scientist’s project instead.”

Daryl sees Hershel and Maggie flinch, and he’s glad Beth is outside. It’s too close to Hershel’s beliefs. Even the captive walker daughter of this Governor is a mirror of Hershel’s wife and son in that barn. But at least the veterinarian never descended to human experimentation to find a cure.

“If you think the men you left behind are good men, we should at least meet with them,” Hershel suggests, looking around to see if there are any objections. “Prisons were supposed to be for rehabilitation, although our old world lost its way on that for the most part.”

The look of relief on Merle’s face tells Daryl that he’d been hoping for the consideration, but then his brother has a jaw cracking yawn that makes everyone realize they’ve been quizzing a man who just covered nearly ninety miles on foot and wounded. Since heat isn’t as much of an issue now, Daryl isn’t surprised when Carol pops up and bustles off to a shelf full of clean linens. He stands, motioning for his brother and his little family to follow, watching as Michonne lifts the sleeping toddler.

Michonne had a cell last night, but only one bed made up since she shared with Andre. Carol’s busy with tucking sheets into place on the other bottom bunk. The narrow twins don’t seem wide enough for a couple, in Daryl’s estimation, but he’s seen Glenn and Maggie manage. Neither of them were wounded though. Andre is settled easily on the previously made bed while Carol leads Michonne away for a mini tour. The obvious intent on leaving the brothers essentially alone is Carol at her finest.

“All this is enough to blow your mind, ain’t it, Daryl?” Merle asks softly. He’s sitting on the bunk opposite of Andre, attention more on the sleeping boy than Daryl.

“Feels a bit like I got into your LSD, to be honest.”

Merle chuckles. “Fair enough. Thing is, I never intended on it being more than a front. I owed her for saving me, and I’d seen predatory men like the Governor before. Wasn’t wishing that on her for a minute, or what he might have done to the boy.”

Considering how they grew up, and the beatings they and their mother endured, Daryl understands the impulse. It’s part of why he stood up to Rick when things escalated over the winter to the level of neglect it did. No one ever stepped in to save the Dixon boys, but Daryl wasn’t a kid anymore. Sophia and the other kids didn’t have to suffer.

“Found out it’s damned easy to fall in love with a woman who looks for you to be something more than trailer trash. Mighty damned easy.” His brother looks toward the direction Carol disappeared in with Michonne. “You and the former mouse got a thing going? Her kid was lingering like your shadow when I first came in.”

Daryl shakes his head. He knows most think he and Carol are just being really discrete, but the only thing he’s ever felt with Carol is close enough to what he feels for Merle that he can’t help but classify her as ‘sister’ in the back of his mind. “Not like that. We’re friends. I help her look after Sophia. Her old man died back at the quarry.”

“He should have died sooner, the fat bastard,” Merle mutters. “I’ll let you fill me in later, when my brain doesn’t feel like I dragged it behind me down that hot asphalt.”

“It’s safe here. Get some sleep.”

That earns him a tired grin from Merle, a flash of the old brashness glinting in his blue eyes as he stretches out on the bunk. “Always safe when you’re here to watch my back.”

Although Daryl’s always known he’d protect his brother at all costs, he’s never thought Merle believed as much. Years of scoffing commentary about Daryl not being masculine enough took a toll, and maybe it’s something they need to air out later, but for now? He’ll settle for the hidden apology those words actually are. Takes a damned apocalypse to straighten his brother out, but it’s done, and Daryl’s praying the protective brotherhood he remembers Merle having from his childhood is finally returning to the man his brother became.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I doubt we'll have any other scenes from the Georgia group take over as thoroughly as this one did, we're obviously even further AU at this point. Eventually, they'll find a reason to go north to Virginia and the final reunion(s) occur. 😉


	13. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane ventures out of hiding at last, but a trip toward Georgia has very unexpected results for him and Paul.

Reactions to Shane and Paul formalizing their relationship at Hilltop vary. There’s enough sly smiles, eye rolls, and muttered about damn times to make Shane care very little for the few narrow eyed stares they get. Those are almost exclusively from people who contribute very little to Hilltop as a whole, which makes them even easier to ignore. Gregory, at least, falls into the ‘could care less’ category.

Shane’s worn hiking pack joins the one Paul had ready to go looking for him and Missy, if they didn’t return when expected. It makes his chest tighten in a good way, that Paul loved them enough to risk a winter hike just to find them. He doesn’t think anyone he’s ever known would risk that much for him.

“You ready to head out?” Paul calls from the living room, jolting Shane from the smile he knows is a damn soppy one when he spots those two packs in the closet when retrieving a spare shirt.

“Yeah. Just grabbing something.” Snagging the sturdy digital camera off the bedside table, he tucks it into the outer pocket. He already has a digital frame with a selection of his hiking pictures in the smaller pack he’s using for scouting and hunting trips now. Just because he’s home, doesn’t mean he has to stop taking photos, right?

It’s a little weird to see Paul with few layers, since most of their time together before had been winter and early spring. Dressing like he had when he met Shane would be inviting heatstroke in late July in Virginia. Shane’s still favoring the moisture wicking athletic shirts he got used to during his hike from Georgia to Virginia. They’re as far from the dark t-shirts and occasional buttonups as he can get and still handle the heat.

But Paul opts for these lightweight buttonup shirts, fabric cool but keeps his arms covered. Today’s is a pale cream color that contrasts nicely with his tan. His hat has joined his winter vest in storage, and his long golden brown hair is twisted up off his shoulders in a way that ought to look odd on a man. Instead, it just suits Paul.

“Still not used to seeing you clean shaven,” Paul remarks, sliding his hand along Shane’s jawline. The three days of regrowth are pretty minor compared to how long it was when he got back to Hilltop, after nearly four months of not even bothering to trim it.

“Want me to let it all grow back?” he asks, leaning into the touch. He’d shaved it all off as a test to himself. Just like shaving his head at the farm had symbolized and hidden what he’d done to Otis, he needed to see his face again. His hair, that he left long, just letting one of the ladies tidy it up to look more intentionally jaw length and less hadn’t seen a barber in a year. 

“I think I like it both ways. Maybe not as long as when you got back. That was getting a little too imitation Hagrid.”

Shane laughs, reaching out to tug at Paul’s neatly trimmed beard. “Long as this stays.”

That leads to a contented round of kisses, softly exploring each other until Missy finally loses her patience with the wait to go outside and whines. “Alright, alright, girl. We got the hint,” Shane tells her.

Paul slings his pack onto his back and goes to open the door. With Missy excitedly pacing ahead of them, they head out of Hilltop for the first time since Shane returned a week ago.

They fall back into the easy routine of scouting trips on foot. What fuel that’s been salvaged is reserved now for supply retrieval, not finding them in the first place. It’s a logical move that Shane approves of, even if it takes longer to find those stashes. 

Even better, it means he and Paul are actually expected to go out like they are now. Trusting Missy's senses, they camp out much like Shane and Missy did on the trail. There are fewer walkers in the wooded areas compared to towns and highways. The undergrowth acts as an obstacle course to minds not capable of navigating it.

“You sure you’re ready to see everyone again?” Paul asks as they pack away the small tent. “I tell you, walking up to that gate today is going to be one hell of a happy surprise for those kids.”

“Yeah, I am.” He could keep avoiding Shirewilt, but with all Paul’s told him about the community’s progress, it’s just time to stop hiding.

The younger man’s prediction of Shane’s arrival being a happy surprise is an understatement. Shane doesn’t know the man who lets them in the gate, and the man doesn’t recognize him, as far as he can tell. Guy’s either new or one of the ones Shane didn’t spend a lot of time around before, he thinks.

“Jesus!” 

Shane knows that voice. He can still remember it drawling out the name he’s used for a large majority of the last year. Amanda’s headed straight for his husband, arms out for a hug, when she spots Missy. The doubletake is endearing and hilarious, especially when the girl drops to her knees to hug the dog. Missy doesn’t mind, greeting Amanda as if she saw her yesterday, not nine months ago.

“So I guess I’m chopped liver next to Missy the super dog, right?”

“Beowulf.” She lets go of the dog, throwing her arms around him in a hug firm enough to make him grunt. He returns it, even as Paul smirks at him and the other college kids stumble to a halt, grinning happily. “I’ve never seen so much of your face,” she says when she finally lets him go. “Where did Jesus find you?”

Shane flushes just a little, because it’s his fault that Paul never revealed that he even knew Shane. “I stayed at Hilltop over the winter, before going back out on the Trail again. Just got back home to him.”

“Home, eh?” Shrewd eyes glance between them, and she spots the rings quickly. She’s not angry, just smiles even more widely than she did before. “You have a home now at Hilltop.”

“No,” Shane tells her, meeting Paul’s intent gaze. “I have a home wherever he is.”

Amanda accepts that with all the romantic enthusiasm of a girl not yet twenty, leading them away to let Shane meet the people all over again. Holding baby Jackson only inspires pride this time, not the overwhelming sense of fear and grief that had sent him fleeing Shirewilt on Halloween. Paul slides an arm around him, watching contentedly as the baby toys with the texture of Shane’s stubble.

“Five months,” Shane tells him softly. No one’s paying close attention to them, not with full bellies after a long day’s work. They’re in a long communal dining hall built for shared meals, the screened window openings allowing for air flow without letting the bugs in.

“Probably sitting somewhere in Georgia, giving Mama gray hair, you know.” Paul’s teasing tone makes him chuckle softly.

“Yeah.” Shane can picture it, a baby that somehow resembles Carl at that age in his mind, running Lori ragged. He hopes it’s as happy as she was when Carl was that small. Half the time he came over she’d been grinning like an overly tired loon, not caring if she had spit up in her hair, long as Carl was happy.

The idea doesn’t inspire grief anymore, just hope that it’s true.

They stay at Shirewilt for four days, leaving to actually scout to the southeast, circling around the destroyed remains of Richmond. After Shane’s success in sailing the coastline, and Paul’s discovery of the Chesapeake Bay community, even landlocked Hilltop is curious about the sea. The Bay community hasn’t ventured anywhere south of Newport, so they’re headed south. He thinks Paul just likes the idea of seeing him on a sailboat.

Taking to the water makes what would be a long trip by car and an even longer one walking go quickly. By the end of the day, they’re anchored along the Outer Banks, stretched out on the deck and enjoying the breeze off the water. Paul’s a quick learner with handling the boat the same as anything else.

“You know, it wouldn’t take that long to slip down to Georgia like this,” Paul muses, glancing at him from heavy lidded eyes. Shane thinks neither of them are going to have any tan lines if they spend the final hours of their days like this, twined together in the fading sunlight.

Shane takes a deep breath before sighing. “Wouldn’t take long to sail, but they’re pretty far inland on that farm.” If the farm held up, which Shane doubts. Eventually, a place like that wouldn’t be safe enough, and Rick would have moved them somewhere better, behind fences or walls. “And they might not be there at all.”

“Just wanted to make the offer, Shane.” Paul rolls to his side, placing a warm hand along Shane’s ribs. “If you want to go looking, we can go.”

“I don’t think they want me back, Paul,” he replies softly. “What I was at the end? Wasn’t healthy or sane.” It’s funny how Dale tried so hard to make him leave, yet flipped to concern when Shane gave in and walked away. It wasn’t like he was any more popular with Hershel, Rick, or Lori at the end, either.

“Might help to know for sure.”

“Let me think it over. We’ve got some places to check out along the way.” It’s south this trip, something he thought was a coin flip, but now thinks was Paul leaving this option open. Next trip, they’d planned on checking out places to the north that Shane and Missy only saw from a distance.

In the end, Shane agrees they should at least give it a try. If they don’t find Rick’s group, at least he’ll know he went back to try to find them. An update on Georgia is always good for the Virginia communities, because if they ever need to leave the area around Washington, DC, south is the safer direction.

They don’t even make the Georgia state line.

Anchoring off Edisto Island, they only intend to take a few hours in a relatively underpopulated area to stretch their legs and let Missy run. Instead, Missy goes alert in a way Shane’s only seen when she’s in superhero mode. He and Paul exchange a knowing look and follow the cowboy corgi as she pelts toward a beach house at seeming random.

There are two walkers scrabbling at the bottom of the stairs leading up to a house on stilts. It’s one of the huge ones probably meant as a vacation rental. The once navy blue paint on the two story house is peeling, already falling prey to the winds off the Atlantic without a maintenance staff to keep it neat and tidy.

“Could be an animal,” Shane remarks. Missy’s fallen quiet now that they’re headed the way she needs them to go, and the walkers haven’t noticed prey on their own level yet. “Anything that could climb would be smart enough to head for higher ground like that.”

“But it could be a person.” Paul’s keen eyes are scanning the porch. He points upward, cursing. “It’s a kid, Shane.”

When Shane looks, he sees what Paul’s indicating, and his blood runs cold. The kid is sobbing, quiet but still audible, curled in the corner of the big porch as far from the stairs as possible. From this distance, he can’t tell if it’s a boy or girl, but the kid can’t be more than eight or nine. “You take the one on the right, and I’ll take the left?” he offers.

Paul just nods grimly, and they dispatch the walkers quickly. Concerned about the terrified kid, they drag the bodies out of sight, even as Missy struggles up the steep stairs. She clears the top before they start up, and Shane hears the softly spoken, “Puppy?” as they reach the porch.

“Hey, kid? You got any people?” Shane asks, keeping his voice calm and evenly pitched. The child startles, hugging Missy close and shaking, but doesn’t respond.

In the old world, Shane’s first question would be to ask where the kid’s parents are. In this world? He could be triggering trauma. Easing closer, he kneels about two feet away from the kid while Paul keeps watch. “The puppy? Her name is Missy. She’s my friend.”

Missy licks the kid’s face, and finally, the child looks up. Shane takes in the facial features indicative of Down Syndrome. He tries again. “My name is Shane, and I’m a police officer. What’s yours?”

“Austin.” The boy pets Missy gently. “Monsters came while Rory was gone.”

“My other friend and I took care of the monsters, Austin. Where did Rory go?”

“Fishing. Supposed to stay inside, but it got hot.” The boy gets to his feet, walking past Paul with a hand tangled in Missy’s harness. The little dog trots along easily, patiently waiting while Austin looks down the stairs and sighs in relief. “I want Rory.”

It’s not a return to the crying, but Shane can understand him wanting whoever his caretaker is after being frightened by the walkers. “Maybe we can go look for him?”

“Rory is a girl.” Austin giggles at Shane’s mistake, but it’s so much better than the tears that he doesn’t care. He leaves the edge of the porch to take Shane’s hand. “I’m not supposed to leave the house. Rory will get mad.”

“I’ll go look for her,” Paul says. “Me and Missy. You stay here with him.”

Shane nods. “No sense in stressing him out by making him break that rule.”

Once Paul coaxes Austin into releasing Missy’s harness, the pair head out, leaving Shane with the boy. Austin tugs on his hand gently. “Can I see your badge?”

Considering how many times Shane has nearly discarded the thing, and that he almost left it in his hiking pack as part of an old life he no longer needs, he’s glad he didn’t. Shucking his pack, he pulls out the badge that he once pinned to his shirt every morning and hands it to the boy.

“Sheriff’s star.” Austin traces the edge of it with a curious finger. “Not regular police.”

“That’s right. I was a deputy sheriff.”

“Did you have a hat?” the boy asks, and Shane feels an echo of old, familiar pain flash through him before he nods. Granted, he never wore his, since it wasn’t required. Rick was always the one who favored the hat.

“I didn’t take it with me when I left home,” he explains, when the boy’s eyes flick up to his very hatless head.

Austin sighs. “I left things at home, too.”

“Is it just you and Rory here, Austin?” he asks softly. An isolated island is a decent enough place, but as today proves, the walkers haven’t been cleared, or the way onto the island hasn’t been blocked off properly. He and Paul don’t just look for supplies on these runs, and if the group is small enough, they can take them back to Hilltop or Shirewilt.

The boy nods, looking sad, blue eyes wide before he focuses back on the metal badge in his hand. “Mommy got sick and sent us away with Daddy. Daddy got sick, too.”

A strangled cry of the boy’s name alerts Shane even before footsteps pound up the stairs. He can’t decide if he’s relieved that Paul found the girl so quickly, or completely horrified that Rory is no older than Carl. Two children, potentially completely alone? It’s enough to make him feel sick.

She gathers the boy up, hugging him tightly and crying almost as hard as Austin had about the walkers. When he protests the bear hug, she lets him go, but checks him over as thoroughly as any mother would. He allows it, looking at Shane all the while. When she finds the badge he’s still holding, she turns to Shane.

“He said you were a police officer, the man with the dog.” She looks wary, and Shane doesn’t blame her. Where he only passed Austin the badge itself, he hands Rory his actual identification. Shrewd, too old eyes study him and the identification, even comparing the badge number. “This isn’t Georgia,” she says at last.

Taking a deep breath, Shane sits down and summarizes how he’d traveled with Missy and later met Paul. Paul takes up the tale when he finishes, telling Rory about Hilltop and the neighbors. The girl listens closely, not volunteering any information about herself right away.

“Austin is my brother,” she ventures at last, after staring out at the ocean for long enough that Shane’s starting to think she doesn’t believe him. “We were in a community on the other side of Charleston, but it got overrun, and my dad got bit. They didn’t want to keep Austin, so I brought him here. We came here on vacation every summer.”

It’s said with so little emotion that Paul and Shane are left to feel outraged for her. Shane swallows hard. “How old are you, Rory?”

Those too old eyes find his, holding his gaze like a girl her age shouldn’t manage. “Twelve last spring.”

What kind of fucking monsters abandoned two children like this? Even at his worst, he can’t imagine doing that. “It was really smart to come here, with the houses on stilts, but staying by yourself? That’s not safe.”

She tightens her arms around Austin. “I’ve kept him safe!” Her voice is an offended growl, and he understands.

“Yes, you have. But he’ll be safer around more people. Not so scared.”

Wary eyes cut between him and Paul, but he can tell the minute her bravado fails. Tears well up in her eyes, and she sniffles. “They won’t want to take my brother.” Covering his ears, she adds, “They’ll say he’s defective, and he’s not. He’s not.”

Paul kneels where he’s on eye level with Rory. “Rory? If anyone says that about him, I’ll personally kick their ass. I promise you that.”

Austin wriggles in Rory’s arms, reaching for Missy as the dog responds to the girl’s distress and approaches the children. “Supposed to trust police officers, Rory,” he says quietly, fingers gripped in Missy’s harness again. His other hand is still gripping Shane’s badge.

The girl hiccups, obviously trying not to cry. She looks straight at Shane. “You promise they’ll let him live there?”

“I promise. We won’t stay anywhere that Austin isn’t welcome.” He’ll keep that promise, regardless. If Hilltop does manage any sort of stupidity, it’s not like they’re eternally committed to the community. Shirewilt will take them, without a doubt.

“Okay, okay.” Rory finally lets Austin go, only to stumble forward and fling her arms around Shane’s neck, sobbing as pitifully as Austin had earlier. He can’t imagine the stress the girl’s been under, keeping a younger child safe all on her own for however long it’s been, but that ends now.

Paul is smiling a little sadly when Shane meets his eyes. They both know this is the end of the trip to Georgia, because they have to get the children behind sturdy walls and give them a home. Maybe they can resume the search another time, but for now, Shane just puts his faith in the idea of those he left behind staying safe somewhere out there like he has all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be Missy's POV, so we finally learn her story, too. Current timeline has 4-6 chapters before the end.


	14. Keeping Family Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy's journey is finally told, while Shane and Paul begin to assess which community is the safest place for their children. Carol's group gains more people, as relationships grow more complex.

Zoey wasn’t much more than a puppy when the world changed and went wrong, but she’d already been left behind by her boy. His parents were nice people, and they gave her a warm bed, tasty food, and fields to chase rabbits in. Her boy came back sometimes, bringing home a stinky bag of clothes that his mama washed and dried and folded. Then he would leave again, and Zoey would wait.

Her boy had called her Zoey, after some television show his girlfriend liked. What happened to her boy, she will never know. He wasn’t home when his parents got sick and smelled like carrion but still kept walking around. No matter where she looked, she never found him again, and she looked for so very long.

It was hot and finding food was hard. Sometimes she caught rodents or unwary birds, but those small prey were even more wary than she was thanks to the strange carrion people. She did learn to sniff out places rodents had been, because where rats and mice were, sometimes she found food she could eat.

She got used to being hungry and having to find tiny holes to hide in so she could sleep. The carrion people hunted by smell like she did, but they forgot she was there if she smelled like them. With no one to complain how she smelled, like her boy’s parents always did before scrubbing her fur clean, she got dirty and stayed that way.

It wasn’t just the carrion people who were dangerous, she found out the hard way. Coyotes knew how to hunt when she didn’t, and there were more of them. They weren’t as smart about barriers as she was, but escaping through a tangle of wire like what surrounded the farm she once lived on costs her. Torn and bleeding, she keeps going, getting weaker and weaker, until she catches a scent she hasn’t smelled in months.

A person who doesn’t smell like carrion is so close, but so far away that all she can do is cry for help.

Help comes, with kind hands and warm people food, and finally, she’s no longer alone. He isn’t her boy, or even her boy’s parents, but he wants her to stay with him. It takes her a while to figure out he’s given her a new name, but she doesn’t mind being Missy, because she has someone to curl up with at night and walk with during the day. He smells of constant sadness, but he is hers.

There is a boy, once, much smaller than Missy’s boy had been even when she was a puppy. But he isn’t theirs to keep, and being around him makes her new person feel such pain that Missy is glad when the boy goes with his father.

Just like before, Missy stays on the move, but now there’s a purpose to it. She’s got someone to look after, and he looks after her, too. Instead of rodents and birds, he feeds her people food and catches rabbits for her. Eventually, she learns to catch them for him, too, to show him how much she loves him.

There are eventually a lot of boys near her boy’s age, but they aren’t her boy, so Missy ignores them as best she can. The girl with them persists, and since she makes her person smile, Missy thinks for a while they may keep the girl. It’s her that names Missy’s person, something he answers to at last. She thinks he lost his first name somehow like she did hers.

She thinks Beowulf is considering staying with the girl’s people, until the baby comes. They leave in the night, and all the sadness the girl chased away is back, along with the stench of fear so badly that Missy looks for carrion people and finds none. Fear sinks into her at the lingering despair the man feels, but eventually, he gets better. Like before, they walk until he stops smelling like he’s broken.

Missy saves a smiling man from a bear, and that man takes them home with him. It’s a cozy, warm place, safe from the wind. He cooks for her as much as Beowulf does, and they live with him when the snow comes. Jesus makes Beowulf smile, too. He’s happy now, and the sadness that used to cling to him comes less and less often.

But when the snow is all gone, Beowulf pulls out the big pack again and all the things they use when they go walking. Since Jesus leaves the little house with them, she thinks maybe they’re all going for a long walk, but for some reason, he stays behind. She doesn’t understand at all, confused as to why they are leaving Jesus.

Their walk isn’t like the first. It feels more like the winter spent in the fenced town, among people like Missy’s old life. Beowulf is happy, and he talks almost as much now as he did when Jesus was there to talk to. She thinks he misses the other man, because he’s always saying his name.

Then one day, they go up a hill so big that Missy has to be carried up it, and it seems like Beowulf is done walking. Finally, they start back in the direction they left Jesus, for a little while. Missy isn’t sure about all the water, but it makes Beowulf so very excited that she’s excited, too. 

Getting home seems to go much faster than walking did, and Beowulf almost misses two men running away from the carrion people. He stops when she barks to warn him, and the nice men tell Missy how smart she is. They don’t come home with Missy and Beowulf, but she doesn’t mind so much. She’s home at last, where her bed no longer smells like her, but everything smells like Jesus.

They don’t just stay in the walled city and their cozy home, but whenever they leave now, Jesus is never left behind. Missy gets to see the girl again, the one that was almost hers, and she finally has a name: Amanda. This time, the baby doesn’t make Beowulf afraid, and the tiny boy giggles whenever he’s allowed to pet Missy’s fur.

Eventually, they return to the boat that made Beowulf so happy to find at the end of the longest walk. Jesus is very entertained by being on the water, and it almost feels as cozy as their home back among the walls. She isn’t sure where they’re going, but her family is all here, so that’s all she needs, or so she thinks.

On a beach, she’s following the smell of fish when the growls of carrion people catch her ears. Her family wants to know when the carrion people are around, so she barks and leads the way. What she can hear, but they can’t seem to, is that somewhere, a child is crying.

Missy reaches him first, because she’s small and fast, and there are carrion people to be stopped from harming the child. By the time they go back to the boat, her family is larger now, because what Beowulf and Jesus act toward these lost children like Missy’s boy’s parents did toward him. There’s an argument back inside the walls, one that makes the boy cry and the girl smell almost as bad as Beowulf did when they left Amanda’s home the first time.

Biting the weird man who is making everyone upset makes Missy feel better, because it stops the argument. He’s making her children hurt, and she couldn’t save her first boy, but she can protect them. Maybe she’s too little to do the damage the man deserves, but she makes him listen, once he stops yowling in pain.

That night, she sleeps in the big bed with her boy, tucked close to him like she did with Beowulf when he was so lost and alone. The girl lies behind the boy, but Missy can see her watching, listening, and learning. That’s good, because it will keep her safe, along with the boy, and the men who already claim these children as family.

Missy lost her first boy because she wasn’t allowed to follow him. That won’t be happening again.

~*~*~*~

Shane shifts the table against the wall, making just enough room for them to spread their bedrolls and sleeping bags out on the living room floor. It’s a tiny room, this combined kitchen and living area, because the trailer never meant for long-term living, but it does have just enough space for a family that isn’t hung up on old world space requirements. Paul is standing midway down the hall, watching.

“C’mon, Paul,” he calls softly. “She won’t sleep easy if you’re watching her.”

The younger man turns reluctantly, sighing as he comes back down the hall. “I’m still not sure staying is the best idea. Just because Gregory agreed doesn’t mean it’s safe for the kids. Rory will always feel unwelcome.”

To be entirely honest, Shane thinks Austin will pick up on it, too. The boy is as sensitive as they come to the feelings of others. His crying is what set Missy off, he’s almost certain. She’s never made a move toward a human being before, always seeming to distinguish easily between humans and walkers. “I’m thinking Missy is going to spend a lot of time making Gregory piss himself.”

Even after Shane managed to get the small dog to let go of the Hilltop leader’s calf, Missy’s hackles had stayed up until others hauled the bleeding and moaning man away. Jesus grins at the reminder. “I know I shouldn’t think it’s funny, Shane, but the man deserved it. I just wish she was bigger, for once. Maybe she would have gotten him in the crotch.”

Shane scoffs. “Like the spineless bastard has anything for her to latch onto.”

“True.” Paul steps up to Shane, wrapping his arms around his waist. “We could always go to Shirewilt anyway. I would be really surprised if they tried to reject Austin there.”

Thinking of the smaller community, Shane knows Paul is probably right. Amanda in particular would champion the children like no other person aside from themselves. “They do have empty houses there, as we were reminded repeatedly when we left.”

“Let’s sleep on it and talk over the options with Rory in the morning. Maybe we’ll take a trip and let them see Shirewilt first.” Shane lets Paul go to get ready for bed. “Fewer people worries me, though. They don’t have a doctor there.”

Paul pauses in tugging a tank top on after shedding his shirt. He wouldn’t normally sleep with a shirt on, but in the three days since they’ve become the foster parents of a twelve-year-old girl, sleeping in clothing is a habit again. “We aren’t that far away. Harlan and Emmett already agreed to do check ups on Shirewilt’s people as needed.”

“It’s something Rory said.” Shane sighs, rubbing at his beard, trying to dredge up vague memories of a kid in Carl’s class who had Down Syndrome. “Sometimes Downs kids have heart problems, Paul, among other things. Before we go anywhere, I want a full workup on both kids, but especially Austin. Maybe there will be things we simply can’t tackle, but at least we’re aware.”

“We already know he’s not growing like he should,” Paul comments.

Finding out that Rory and Austin are twins was shocking, but it might also explain the girl’s extreme overprotectiveness toward her brother. She’s never had a moment of her existence without Austin as part of it. “We need more information than what we get second hand from a twelve year old girl.”

“Alright. We make Shirewilt our backup plan, but only after we know everything he needs. Rory, too. Fending for them by herself for months can’t have been easy on her physically or mentally. It’s too bad we don’t have a damn shrink.”

Shane straightens from getting his boots unlaced, laughing softly to himself. The comment makes him remember something Aaron and Eric said in passing during their short trip as passengers in Shane’s truck. “What if I know where to find one?”

It’s not surprising that Paul remembers the one community Shane’s met people from that Paul hasn’t yet. “I suppose we’ll just have to finally go see about that new alliance, won’t we?” 

In amused agreement, they finish getting ready for bed, and once Shane’s spooned around Paul, he presses a kiss against his shoulder. “I didn’t expect to become a parent,” he tells him softly, “but thank you for just rolling with me needing to keep them with us.”

Paul rolls so that he can claim a proper kiss, keeping his hands cupped around Shane’s face. “I grew up in foster care, Shane. There’s no way in hell I would risk anyone looking after those kids but us.”

Shane shouldn’t be surprised, because the group home thing is something Paul’s shared since his return. But he knows that doesn’t always translate to wanting to be a foster parent. “I knew I fell in love with you for a reason.”

“I love you, too. Now get some sleep, because something tells me Austin’s habit of rising with the sun will continue on dry land, too.”

Falling asleep with Paul in his arms, with their newly acquired children sleeping down the hall with Missy, is the best night Shane’s had since the world went to hell. They’ll get the details sorted out with enough time to consider them, but for now, their family is all here and safe. In this day and age, that’s everything a parent can wish for.

~*~*~*~

The world can't be any crazier than seeing Merle Dixon settle into the community at the jail, Carol thinks. He does go and retrieve his three ex-prisoners, bringing them back and introducing them to her as the lady in charge of their continued good fortune. Why he picks Carol, she isn’t sure at first, because she doesn’t exactly consider herself a leader of the group.

In time, she figures it out. Even Axel, who is about as strong a people pleaser as Glenn, tends to avoid anyone who had anything to do with the rooftop in Atlanta. It’s almost surreal to know that what she was told started off as a racist tirade that led to a brutal beatdown of T-Dog is now the fuel for watching Oscar and Tiny guard Andre from Carol’s own people. As long as the peace holds, she isn’t sure it’s worth it to rock the boat, and at least their living quarters provide room to spread out.

Michonne’s pregnancy is more advanced than Carol originally thought. The other woman had hidden it as long as possible, so she’s already approaching her seventh month. Once she recovers from the exhaustion and dehydration, she’s back on her feet and claiming her share of the work. Merle’s obvious devotion to her and Andre is something Carol almost envies.

“Your daughter is becoming quite the young warrior,” Michonne says, startling Carol out of her wandering thoughts. “She asked me if I would train her on bladework.”

Looking up from her weeding in the fenced gardens, Carol squints through the sun at her visitor. “Do you think she’s old enough for that?” 

Sophia can use a knife, but it’s basic protection and walker takedown that Daryl’s trained them both on. Michonne’s katana fascinates all the youngsters, but Carol isn’t surprised that Sophia approached her first. Her daughter isn’t overly fond of guns, but she’d practice archery with the bow Daryl found her for hours if they let her.

“She’s responsible enough to handle a bow and a hunting knife. A longer blade shouldn’t be too hard on her. I’m guessing they could probably find some practice blades for me at some abandoned dojo or another. Those are made of bamboo, usually, or some sort of wood.”

“It can’t hurt for her to learn. She’ll need to learn to use a machete one day anyway.”

Michonne smiles at the agreement and motions toward the tomato bed Carol is working in. “I don’t know much about plants, but I’m happy to lend a hand if you tell me what needs to go and what needs to stay.”

Giving her a brief accounting of what she has planned for today, Carol welcomes the help. The kids usually lend a hand, but today is laundry day for bed linens, so Lori and Patricia have conscripted them all. “Where’s Andre?” she asks, realizing the toddler is nowhere to be seen, and she knows Merle is asleep after being on watch until daylight.

“Pestering Uncle Dare.”

Daryl’s surprising patience with the teens of the group is surpassed only by his extreme gentleness with baby Judith. The fact that Andre would be the latest duckling to follow Daryl around the jail was almost a given. “I find it surprising that he’s never been a father, as good as he is with kids.”

Michonne hums, but she gives Carol a knowing glance that makes her curious. “What do you know?”

“Well, at first, Merle was pretty sure the man was sweet on you and just ignoring it, despite him saying you were like a sister to him.”

Carol laughs now, letting the amusement run through her. “Why does everyone think men and women can’t be just friends?”

“Honestly, those that do think along those lines probably do because they can’t manage it if they don’t have some sort of commitment to keep their intentions platonic.” Shrugging, the other woman carefully tugs a blade of stray grass away from a basil plant nestled between the tomatoes. 

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“Just keep an eye out at supper. Neither of them have figured it out yet, and I think there’s a lot of side stepping yet to come in avoiding stepping on Rick’s feelings, but…”

“Oh.” Carol isn’t sure she needs to wait that long, because she’s got a good memory for everything Daryl does. It’s just a habit, to keep a close eye on those she loves. “Maybe someone should point out to them that Rick and Andrea’s supply runs these days seem to have the same type of delays that Glenn and Maggie’s do.”

Honestly, it’s like everyone forgets Carol does the inventory of the condom supplies around here.

Michonne absorbs the information with a look of mischief crossing her face, but before Carol can question her, there’s the rumble of one of the motorcycles returning. That’s not unusual, but the fact that two vehicles are following is. One vehicle is a good run, with the bike’s passenger driving whatever they’ve found for goods they wanted to bring back immediately. Two? That means other survivors.

By bedtime, Carol’s made places for five more in their little safe haven, a brother and sister pair along with a couple and their teenage son. They’re so grateful to be anywhere but outside and on the run that they don’t even flinch when Carol locks their cell doors for the night. She’s about to head for her own bed when Tyreese calls her back.

“I don’t want to seem ungrateful and ask too much,” he says, glancing over to where his sister is sleeping soundly on the bunk in their shared cell. “But could I get something for a headache?”

“Of course. You could have mentioned it earlier, you know.”

“I know, but it’s like not having to be alert made it feel twice as bad as it ever did.” 

Carol pats the hand he has on the bars, hoping to reassure him, and heads off to find the meds. She returns with several packets of Excedrin scavenged from a convenience store and three bottles of water to add to the two already in the cell. “Dehydration causes headaches almost as much as any other factor,” she advises as he accepts everything with a grateful smile.

“I remember that from my football days,” Tyreese says, ripping open a packet and swallowing both pills with what ends up being the contents of half of the bottle. “I’m grateful for the kindness your people are showing us, Carol. More than you can ever imagine. Few more days out there might have been more than we can manage.”

“Just be good people is all I ask.” 

The smile he gives her makes his already handsome face even more so. Just a few hours in safety has eased the worry lines in the man’s face considerably. “That is something I can most certainly do.”

He retreats to settle the sheet over his sister as she sleeps before climbing into the opposite bunk. Carol spares a look back to see him watching his sister with the vigilance honed by months outside safe walls. The familial display makes her smile. These folks will fit in just fine, given time, and having two more families safe makes Carol sleep easy tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably isn't Missy's last POV, although I do not promise exactly when she'll show up again.
> 
> In case the fact that the kids are twins is confusing, Down Syndrome causes growth delays, and most people with Downs are shorter than average height as adults. Since puberty can also be delayed, Austin appearing younger than Rory at this point is normal.
> 
> Deciding where Shane and Paul will live is a little complex, since there are the kids to consider and the fact that Rick's group needs to follow a breadcrumb trail to find Shane for the Beowulf legend to play out. 
> 
> The minor little soap opera at the Jail is intentional, people would start pairing off for comfort and in need of rebuilding lost family ties. The show doesn't do it as much as I honestly think would happen in reality. Whether or not any of the three budding romances hinted at in this chapter will last to the end of the story, who knows? _(Author spitefulness is at play here, too. A "guest" left me an "EWWWW" review on FFnet about a Daryl/Lori pairing in another story. It's one of my OTPs, so voila, another one may yet appear.)_
> 
> Before Rick's group finally heads north, there are six more folks to be gathered... and possibly a seventh, since I do sort of like Gabriel nowadays.


End file.
